The Ninth Ranger
by Halcyon5
Summary: As a half-elf, Haladane has never been welcome among the Nords of Skyrim. Tolerated? Yes. But welcome? Hardly. But when a new threat arises that endangers all of Skyrim, he finds his fate tied to the province's own in a way he never would have imagined.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Haladane Tavisson knelt at the edge of the mountain clearing, his fingers gently scraping away the molding leaves that covered the print he was examining.

"Still fresh," he muttered to himself, tracing a finger absentmindedly along the rim of the track, which was now clearly recognizable as the hoof-print of a hardy Skyrim deer. It had only recently been covered by the decaying foliage, and the edges of it were loose and unsubstantial, crumbling inwards under as he brushed them.

That meant the animal that had made them had to be nearby. And if the size of the track was anything to judge by, it was a large one.

Haladane looked up, shading his eyes as he evaluated the position of the sun. It was mid-morning now, which would give him at least a few hours more to track the deer before he would be forced to turn back.

However, Haladane did not intend upon returning empty-handed. Ever since his uncle had been crippled in an encounter with a bear while out trapping, the task of keeping the Tavisson family supplied with meat and hides had fallen to him. It was a mission he treated with the utmost seriousness, and after years of learning from his uncle and from firsthand experiences, he had become incredibly adept at the arts and skills of woodcraft. He could track a fox across twelve miles of mountains and rivers and drop a deer from two hundred yards with a single shot. He knew the game trails of the mountains around his home like the back of his own hand, and could tell now from the rocky crag on his right that he was only two miles from the mouth of the White River where it flowed out of Lake Ilinalta. This gave him an advantage over most hunters in the Falkreath Hold; by now, many deer had retreated from the lowlands and plains where hunters were more common and withdrawn to the remote safety of the mountains northwest of Lake Ilinata. Few men dared to track them deep into the towering pine forests and steep, rocky slopes of the mountains, braving the wolves and bears that also called such regions home, but Haladane had no such compunctions.

The family would need the meat this kill would provide to supplement their meals throughout the winter. Such meat could be bought in town, but it would be a strain on the family's already-meager coffers.

With that thought in mind, Haladane resumed his pursuit of the animal. He knew where it was going, now; it was most likely headed towards the Ymirsdottïr falls, where Redbelly Creek drained into the White River, and where nearby meadows afforded perfect grazing areas full of the hardy snowberry and other such plants. He rarely stopped to examine the tracks, checking only now and again to confirm that he was on the right path.

He had a spring in his step as he jogged through the woods. It could be simply because it was such a beautiful day, or that he was on the trail of a promising buck. However, there was one reason that overshadowed those; today, the sixteenth of Last Seed, was also his sixteenth birthday. That brought him officially into manhood, according to human customs.

He frowned. He wasn't quite sure how his Bosmer side affected that.

Haladane Tavisson was a rare breed among the many races of Skyrim. He was a half-elf, his father a farmer from Cyrodiil by the name of Mathil and his mother a Bosmer, or wood elf, from the far-southern land of Valenwood who only called herself Raela. They had met while she was working as a shopkeeper's assistant in Riverwood.

And he knew next to nothing about them beyond that. According to his uncle and now foster father Armun Tavis, they had both died in a bandit attack when Haladane was but one, and when no one else would take in the child, Armun and his wife Thalia had stepped forward.

The mixing of Bosmer and Imperial blood in Haladane meant that as a half-elf, he was different from both races. From his father, he inherited a basically-human appearance, with brown eyes and tousled dark hair. His elven heritage, however, was more than evident by the noticeable tapering of his ears and slightly narrow, almost feline facial features. He was fairer than any normal man, but more rugged than any elf.

It was not always a blessing. As the offspring of mixed parents, he was not considered a part of either the human or elven cultures, and a bit of a pariah among normal townsfolk, who viewed him with suspicion because of his elven blood and features. That would not have been as much of a problem in Cyrodiil or other provinces of the Empire, where races mixed and interbred far more often. In Skyrim, however, the predominant Nords were highly distrustful of foreigners, and especially of elves, a feud that reached back to the dawn of history. During his early childhood, when the Tavissons had lived in Helgen, Haladane had been tormented mercilessly by the town children, who used names like "elfsson", "freak", and, most hurtful of all, "Halfling" with such frequency that he had taken to wearing a hooded cloak whenever he went out in public so as to hide the tips of his ears from view. It had gotten so bad that when he was ten, he had finally snapped under the pressure and fought back, pummeling one of his tormenters to within an inch of their life.

The community outrage had been massive and instantaneous, and the Tavissons, while not the only mixed-race family living in Helgen, were the most obvious target. A community meeting was held, during which multiple testimonials were heard from the parents of the boy Haladane had attacked and his gang, all of which decried the Tavisson boy as a danger to the town as a whole.

The Tavissons had no choice but to leave, uprooting from Helgen where his uncle left a profitable job as a blacksmith and his aunt as a jeweler to relocate near the shores of Lake Ilinata. There, they raised a modest farmhouse and barn. Shortly afterwards, Eleyna, Haladane's cousin and foster-sister, had been born, and the Tavissons began a new life as a family. The scattered farmers nearby were too focused on eking out what living they could to give the Tavissons any more trouble, and after a hard first few years, the family had finally established themselves as farmers.

It was a far different life from what they had lived in Helgen, but Haladane was satisfied. Farming was hard work, to be sure, but it was honest work, and Haladane felt he preferred the slower, deliberate life in the country to the hectic pace of city-dwelling.

Yes, he decided as he came upon another clearing with a crystal-clear brook tumbling through it, he much preferred the wilds to "civilization". Nature cared not whether you were human or elf; her rules were the same for everyone, and Haladane took comfort in that.

Of course, there was one thing he missed about Helgen, he thought. For all the bullying and teasing he had endured, there had been one person that had made it tolerable, one friend who he could always depend on to have his back.

Ariadne. Just thinking of her caused a wide, foolish grin to crease his face. She was a Breton, a people known to have intermingled human and elf blood like him, and had been his only real companion during his years in Helgen. She had been an orphan like Haladane, and lived with a Cyrodiilic family that had taken her in after both her parents had been killed during a sailing accident. She was a constant source of support for him during his younger years. Whenever he felt at his most miserable, she was always there to cheer him up with a few words of encouragement.

They had communicated for a while with letters after the Tavissons left Helgen, but their treatises had been growing ever farther apart lately, a fact that saddened Haladane immensely. He could still picture her in his mind; a slender young girl, with wavy brown hair and eyes as green as the summer grass, with a smile that could charm a cave bear and cheer him up no matter how much he had gone through that day.

So focused was he on that image that he almost blew his cover when he came out of the treeline to find that he had arrived at the meadows of Redbelly Creek.

The aforementioned creek, named for the now-depleted copper deposits nearby that had once drawn settlers to this region, wound its way lazily through the field in front of him, with the sound of the falls in the distance. Waves of tall grasses covered the meadow, hiding sudden bursts of mountain flowers or a snowberry plant.

And grazing by the creekside was the deer he had been tracking. It was a large male, with antlers stretching at least twice as far as its head on either side. And while those would make a nice decoration over the family hearth, its healthy, red-brown fur could also be made into leather for a variety of other uses.

Fortunately, it didn't appear to have noticed him. Its head was down, focused resolutely on the snowberry plant it was busily stripping bare.

Haladane let out a sigh of relief as he stepped back behind the tree line. He was lucky; this buck hadn't gotten to be as large as it was by taking chances, but it obviously felt secure enough in this remote meadow that it didn't bother to check over its shoulder nearly as often as it would normally.

That could all change in a moment's notice, however, as a flash of movement caught Haladane's eye. Glancing up, he saw a raven sitting on an overhead bough. It cocked its head quizzically at him, shook itself, and then opened its beak, preparing to inform him that he was trespassing on its territory.

That couldn't happen. If the bird alerted the deer to his presence, then the entire hunt would be for naught.

Almost without thinking, Haladane closed his eyes, searching for his ability. It was a strange thing, the ability. That was all he called it, for he had never told anyone about it, and he had no idea what it really was. All he knew was that he had likely inherited it from his mother.

And then he found it, deep inside his consciousness, a small, buried nub of energy. He pushed at it with his mind, rammed against it with all his strength until it finally seemed to burst, flooding his mind with a sudden light and purpose.

At once he was at one with nature, able to sense the minds of all the life around him. He knew the deer in the meadow and the fish in the stream, the multitudes of insects that tilled the loam below his feet and the circling falcon in the wan blue sky above.

Sifting through the sudden massive influx of information, he managed to isolate the presence of the raven, and as fast as he could, he pushed against it as he felt the words spilling forth from his throat in a language he did not understand, but somehow knew: "Noto friya. Eka kaleyia il bain."

The raven suddenly stilled, its beak frozen in mid-cry.

Haladane felt a sudden fatigue, and he leaned against a nearby tree as he caught his breath. The little nub of energy was gone from his mind, as if it had never been, and try as he might, he could not remember the words.

He never could. He had used the ability half a dozen times over the past year since he had first discovered it, and every time he had succeeded in calming an animal. Every time he had also forgotten what he had done or how he had done it until the next day.

He suspected it had something to do with his Bosmer ancestry-his aunt Thalia once mentioned that she had seen his mother charm a bird out of a tree to land on her hand-but he had never worked up the courage to ask.

When he straightened up again, he saw that the raven was still sitting on the branch, looking at him with what appeared to be a mild curiosity, but it made no move to squawk or cry.

A quick glance showed the deer still grazing in the meadow, and Haladane tested the air for wind one last time. There was a slight breeze, but he was upwind of the animal, so its chances of detecting him were minimal.

It was time.

Reaching behind his back, he withdrew his bow from its buckskin tube. He had made it himself at the age of fourteen, after he outgrew the bow his uncle had given him as a child. Its frame was constructed of strong yet flexible layers of yew and juniper that he had culled during his many wanderings, carved into a longbow that was nearly as tall as he was. To his disappointment, he had never grown much since then (he had yet to reach the coveted six-foot mark) but it was a more manageable size now. The string he had woven from strands of flax and slivers of goat intestine.

He strung the bow now as quietly as he could, his hand running over the polished wood to the leather grip. Taking care to remain completely silent, he slowly reached behind his back and withdrew one of his hunting arrows. Consisting of a straight ash shaft fletched with grey goose-feathers, it was tipped with a wide, razor-sharp broadhead that his father had crafted in the family's small forge, designed especially to slice through the layers of skin and muscle of large animals.

Gently, he nocked the arrow on the string, pulling forward the bracer on his bow arm to protect the forearm as he slowly, reverently pulled the string back. The wooden frame didn't so much as squeak despite the massive amounts of pressure coursing through it. With the rear of the shaft trapped securely between his middle and string fingers, he pulled it back to almost full draw and then narrowed his aim, focusing on that part of the deer's chest just below the shoulder where the lungs were. The bowstring hummed with tension as he steadied his arms. Shifting his aim to give a little bit of a lead in case the animal bolted, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and then pulled back to full draw and fired in one swift, continuous motion.

The wooden frame flexed powerfully, bucking forward as the bowstring slapped against Haladane's bracer. Within a second he had nocked and drawn another arrow, just in case the buck was tougher than it looked or his aim was off.

The instant the deer heard the arrow being released, it had darted forward, but the preemptive compensation Haladane had made in aiming was sufficient. The arrow flashed across the meadow, piercing the deer's hide and severing muscle tissue as it slipped through the ribcage and punctured a lung.

The animal made a few more halting steps before it came to a halt, its legs wobbling uncontrollably. And then, slowly, with an almost dignified grace, it sank to its knees, before finally falling on its side in the meadow grass.

Haladane breathed a sigh of relief that at least the deer's death had been quick. He never enjoyed the necessity of taking an animal's life, but necessity it was. He always tried to minimize the suffering they experienced, though, ever since one hunt he had made when he was thirteen; he had gotten overconfident, careless, and instead of taking the doe through its heart, the arrow had instead pierced its flank.

He tracked the blood trail until dark, following the deer as deep as he dared into the mountains before the sun went down and he was forced to return home.

The next morning he picked up the trail again. The deer had run for another three miles, near to the source of Redbelly Creek.

By the time he found the carcass, the wolves had eaten their fill.

After that he had sworn to always make the deaths of his quarries as quick and painless as possible, and he took a measure of satisfaction in this kill.

Now, he had to pack out the meat before the scavengers and larger animals picked up the scent. Drawing his hunting knife, he slit open the deer's belly, scooping out the internal organs and carrying them away to the edge of the meadow, where he dug a small hole and deposited them. He then returned to the carcass, and with quick, methodical motions learned through years of practice, he skinned, quartered, and packed the animal, placing the meat into hide packages he had brought along and attaching them to his main pack.

He was unable, of course, to carry all of the meat in one trip; the buck was simply too large. It was nearly noon by the time he made his last trip back to where he had left his horse, Tarathal.

The chestnut stallion whinnied and stomped his feet excitedly when Haladane exited the woods, eager to be running again. Haladane had bought the stallion when he was just a colt barely able to walk on its own from a neighboring farmer, and the two had developed a bond as close as brothers. When he had left to track the deer, Haladane had not even bothered to hitch the horse; he knew that Tarathal would never run away.

Tarathal eagerly trotted over to greet his master, his nose butting against Haladane's cheek. Grinning, Haladane stroked the animal's mane. "Missed you too," he said, as he prepared to begin loading the horse's saddlebags.

He was suddenly stopped by Tarathal's nose bumping into his chest, stopping him in his tracks. He tried to sidle around the horse, but the stallion would have none of it, bumping him on the chest once again.

Haladane gave a tired grin. "You're insufferable," he said, reaching into his satchel and pulling out an apple. "This was going to be my lunch," he complained, before tossing it to the horse, who happily caught it and began to munch away with a satisfied whinny.

By the time the sun had reached its crest in the sky, Haladane was riding back down the mountain, navigating the narrow, twisting game trails with a sense of direction born from years of experience. If he followed this one a bit longer, he knew, it would intersect with the main trail that would take him back to the family farm.

It first came within sight as he skirted along a mountain ridge, where a brief clearing in the trees allowed him a sight of the valley below. It was dominated by the deep blue expanse of Lake Ilinata, sunlight glinting in silver-gold flashes off the water. It was a calm day, and so the surface of the lake was placid, flat as a mirror, the waves gently lapping against the white sands of its beaches.

The Tavisson farm was located on the lake's northwestern edge, near to where the White River began its flow. Haladane couldn't help but smile as he saw it, saw all that the family had accomplished since they had moved here.

The farmhouse was small, what most nobles would consider a mere cottage, but Haladane knew it was well constructed and solid; it had withstood over a half-dozen Skyrim winters without so much as a single whimper. There was a small porch at the front where in the evening, when the work was done, the family would relax and watch the sunset. The roof was peaked and shingled, a requirement for any dwelling that wasn't underground during the frozen winters when snowfall would be measured in meters. His mother's garden was located a little bit west of the house, where she grew the potatoes, leeks, and tomatoes that went into her delicious soups.

The barn was a hundred meters east of the house, a long building wherein resided the family's two plowhorses, Grollo and Gallo, and their single milk cow, Brelda. A small smokehouse was built onto the end of the barn, wherein catches from the lake and the woods would be prepared. His father also had a small forge in the barn where he made the farm's tools by hand.

And surrounding the farm were the fields, a golden-brown patchwork of wheat, barley, corn, and other crops, which were all growing tall. It had been a good season, and now as harvest-time approached, Haladane felt confident that the family's cellar would be stocked near to overflowing by the time they were done, while any excess would be taken to Helgen and sold at annual farmer's market.

"It's a small world," Haladane agreed as Tarathal shifted beneath him, pawing at the ground, "but it's ours. What more would we need?"

The horse whinnied and tossed back its head, eager to be on the move again, and Haladane smiled, encouraging the stallion forward.

They descended down the main trail from the mountain without trouble, spotting only a single bear in the distance that moved off as soon as they approached. Within the next hour, they were heading down the main road towards the farm.

A curl of smoke was emitting from the chimney as they approached, and Haladane grinned, knowing his aunt was cooking something special for today. He had left for the hunt early that morning, before any of the family was awake, taking only a strip of jerky and some bread for breakfast, and so was plagued with a ravishing hunger by the time he descended from the mountains. While between the costs of daily life and the ever-steeper Imperial taxes the Tavissons had not the coin to spend on extravagant celebrations, his foster parents always worked hard to make sure their children received something special on their birth-days, and his aunt always somehow knew exactly what Haladane wanted the most.

His uncle was nowhere to be seen as he rode up to the fence surrounding the farm, but from the sound of it, he was hard at work in the forge.

It seemed odd for Armun to be laboring with the coals and steel in the middle of the day, but Haladane didn't bother to go in and ask. He needed to get the meat stored away before it began to spoil.

He guided Tarathal up to the smokehouse, dismounting and opening the door. It was not in use at the moment, but the scent of all the dried and smoked meat was still mouth-watering.

Quickly, he went to work, placing the packages of venison into the dark, cool corner of the smokehouse, kept that way by blocks of ice that were hewn out of the lake during the winter and half-buried to keep them insulated and cool during the summer. The ice would keep the meat cool and fresh until it was ready to be prepared.

Footsteps outside alerted him to his uncle's presence, the staggered pattern of the sounds caused by Armun's limp. Placing the last package of venison in the makeshift freezer, Haladane turned and straightened just in time to be caught in a massive embrace.

"Welcome back, son," Armun said, clapping Haladane on the back before stepping back to arm's length. "Or should I say 'man?'"

Haladane grinned. "Maybe we could change that to 'mighty hunter' as long as we're at it."

Armun guffawed, a deep, roaring laugh that came from the depths of his being and was as infectious as the fever. Despite the accident that had crippled his right leg and left him with a perpetual limp, Armun was the kind of man that refused to stay down for long. With a bristly, salt-and-pepper beard and eyes that always seemed to be twinkling with amusement at some great joke known only to him, he was just the sort of father figure Haladane had needed during his tumultuous childhood.

"What'd you bag this time?" Armun asked.

"A buck," Haladane responded, walking outside to show Armun the antlers clipped to Tarathal's saddle-bag, as well as the hide rolled up at the rear. "I figure about five years old. Caught him grazing by the creek."

"Well done," Armun said, limping over to examine the antlers. "Well done indeed. This hide will fetch quite a price at the market."

Haladane grinned. "All because of what you taught me, uncle."

Armun paused. "No," he said, "not all. I've known many hunters during my life, but there're few that have your natural ability to track and shoot. Your parents-" he suddenly stopped, as if he had said too much, and began to fiddle with the antlers.

Haladane frowned. "What about my parents?" Armun rarely mentioned Haladane's parents, and then only briefly, saying that they were rather reclusive and never told him much. Still, Haladane seized every opportunity to find out anything more he could about them.

"Nothing, nothing," Armun said hurriedly, stepping back from the saddle. "Anyways, good work. Why don't you head on inside and have some lunch. I'll be in shortly, hm?"

Haladane opened his mouth to press his former question, but realized that it would be pointless. Armun obviously didn't want to talk about it any further, and despite his uncle's geniality, when he decided to keep his mouth shut, there was no way of getting it open.

"Of course, uncle," he said.

Armun nodded absentmindedly, already limping his way back to the forge.

"Odd," Haladane muttered, then shaking his head to clear his mind. It was his birth-day, and more than that, his entrance into manhood. He would soon be old enough to track down the answers himself.

He guided Tarathal into the barn, hanging up the stallion's saddle and tack on the wall and tossing the horse a carrot from a nearby bin before leaving.

He made his way up the steps to the farmhouse porch, wondering what Thalia was cooking. The smell was mouthwatering, even from out here.

Haladane opened the door, and was hit immediately by two things: first, the heavenly aroma of freshly-baked redcurrant rolls, and secondly, a high-pitched shriek of: "Hally!"

Haladane was barely able to brace himself against the doorway in time to meet his cousin and foster sister as she came rushing out of the kitchen to greet him. Eleyna had turned six just a few months ago, and now came up to his stomach.

She almost knocked him over, a little blizzard of dark hair and white clothes latching around his waist. "Hally, you're back!" she shouted happily, using her favorite nickname for her older cousin. "How'd it go? Did you get anything? Did you see any bears? Were they scary? What about wolves? Were there any wolves? I've never seen a wolf and Mommy says they're bad but I don't think they're bad I just think-"

"Eleyna, now, give the poor child a chance to breathe!" Thalia scolded good-naturedly as she swept into the room, hastily pulling her hair back into a bun. "Or should I say 'poor man?'" she said with a wink at Haladane.

Haladane gave a flustered grin as he slowly extracted himself from Eleyna's vicelike grip. "Well, I'm not quite sure where to start, but yes, I did get a deer."

"Was it big?" she asked immediately.

Haladane nodded. "Yes," he said.

"How big?" was the immediate follow-up.

Haladane blinked, trying to come up with a comparison that she would understand, but she kept on pressing. "Was it bigger than Brelda?"

Haladane thought. "About as big as Brelda," he said after a while. "A little shorter than Tarathal."

"Wow," Eleyna said, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Now, Eleyna," Thalia said, "before you pester him with any more questions, aren't you forgetting something?"

Eleyna paused, her tiny brows furrowing as she pondered the question, before she finally lit up. "It's Hally's birth-day!" she exclaimed in a voice squeaky with excitement. "Come on!" she said, grabbing Haladane's hand and pulling him along into the kitchen.

The delicious aroma only increased as soon as they entered, and Haladane's mouth watered at the sight of a tray of freshly-baked redcurrant rolls cooling on the windowsill. Ever since he was a child, they had been his favorite treat, but the redcurrant didn't grow in Skyrim; the Tavissons had to purchase it for no small amount from farmers in Cyrodiil, which was why they were such a rare treat.

"Mommy and I made them just for you!" Eleyna proclaimed proudly.

"Oh did you now?" Haladane said. "Well, that's very sweet of you." He lifted Eleyna up and kissed her on the forehead, spinning her around twice before setting her down.

As she giggled, he turned to his aunt. "You shouldn't have-" he began, but Thalia cut him off. "Pish-posh, young man," she said. "It's your special day, in more ways than one. Now, Eleyna, why don't you two go clean yourselves up?"

"Yes, mommy!" Eleyna charmed, grabbing Haladane's arm again. "Come on!"

As Haladane was hauled bodily down the hallway to the washroom by his little cousin, he paused to step into the small room they shared and hang his bow and quiver up on the wall.

By the time the two had gotten cleaned up with fresh lakewater, there was more than just the aroma of redcurrant rolls spreading from the kitchen. When they returned, Armun was already seated, chomping away at a roll while Thalia laid out plates for the rest of the family.

"Oh my," Haladane said as he took his seat. His aunt sure had been busy; on his plate alone were two rolls, a helping of eggs, several pieces of bacon, and a tall glass of fresh milk.

The food was delicious, as it always was, and by the time Haladane had finished wiping the last bit of redcurrant sauce from around his mouth, he was stuffed.

And then the gifts began. It was traditional that upon a boy's entrance into manhood, he would receive a hand-made gift from each member of the family.

Eleyna's gift was a doll horse that was tailored to an amazing degree of accuracy to look exactly like Tarathal. Judging from the smile on Thalia's face, she had helped a great deal, but Eleyna's skill at sewing was already substantial, even at her young age.

After promising his cousin that he would always keep the doll with him, he received his mother's present, a beautifully hand-crafted silver ring carved with the likenesses of a falcon, a fox, and a deer. The level of detail was incredible, so much so that if he held up the ring to the sunlight and rotated it, the animals seemed to come alive and dance about the band.

He put it on immediately, gushing thanks towards his aunt, who pretended to act modest, but he could tell that she really was proud of it.

Then it was Armun's turn. He turned and left the house, before returning with a large bundle. The object inside was obviously long, but it was swathed with so many layers of cloth that determining its identity was impossible.

With trembling fingers, Haladane undid the cords and slowly peeled away the layers of protective fabric. As he did so, a shape began to reveal itself.

_It can't be_, Haladane thought to himself in disbelief, and began to unwrap it all the faster.

And it was.

The sword was as long as his arm, resting in a scabbard the color of forest leaves and embroidered with gold around the edges.

"Uncle," he stammered, momentarily at a loss for words. "You…I…"

"Just put the finishing touches on it this morning, I did," Armun grunted approvingly, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. He grinned. "Looks like I haven't lost the old skills after all."

Seeing the shocked expression on Haladane's face, he gestured, "Well, go on. Try it out. Got to make sure the balance is right, now, don't we?"

Slowly, glancing back at Armun for encouragement, Haladane wrapped his hand around the black leather grip. With a quiet reverence, he withdrew the blade from its scabbard with a quiet ring of metal.

It was a simple yet beautiful thing; a three-foot long blade of razor-sharp steel that rounded to a thrusting point at the tip. The fuller ran all the way down to the hilt, making it lighter and less brittle. Below the crossguard was a black hilt and a round pommel that balanced the weight of the blade. The whole thing weighed perhaps two pounds. It felt perfect in his hands, making a pure, humming note as he moved it back and forth.

Most swords followed a basic construction, he knew; Armun had taught him as much while they lived in Helgen. Bars of steel were heated, pounded down, and then hammered together against each other. When they reached a sufficient temperature, they would be welded together, folded over each other, and then hammered together again. The cooling, however, was the most crucial part; cool a blade just once, and it would become hard and brittle, and would most likely snap. But if tempered correctly, reheated and quenched over and over, the steel would melt together, making it less apt to crack and giving it a firm but flexible blade.

"Thank you so much," Haladane said, unable to find any other words as he sheathed it again. "But…why?"

"You're a man now, Haladane," Armun grunted. "As of today, I am no longer legally obligated to provide for you, nor you to obey me. And soon enough, you're going to have to learn how to protect yourself."

Armun must have seen the sudden alarm in Haladane's eyes, as he quickly continued. "Don't take that to mean that I'm kicking you out," he assured. "Quite the opposite, in fact; I'd hoped you would stay at least for the harvest season, and as long as you would like after that. However, no longer can we continue to hide from you the truth."

Haladane froze. "What?"

Armun sighed and leaned forward, rubbing his temples. He glanced over to Thalia, seemingly for encouragement, and she gave him a quick nod.

"Haladane…" he began, faltering. "We…"

Armun took a deep breath and then began again, his voice steadier. "We won't blame you if you're angry at us for this; it's completely understandable, but we ask that you at least hear us out first."

Haladane was too shocked to respond for a second. "What do you mean? What are you talking about? Is this something to do with my parents-?"

"Your parents," Thalia said, "did not die in a bandit attack."

Haladane's jaw opened and closed several times, like a fish trying to breath out of water, before he finally managed to wheeze out: "…what?"

"My brother was a reclusive fellow," Armun continued. "I never did know him very well, and Raela even less. However, he was more than a mere farmer, and Raela was no shopkeeper's assistant."

"Then what were they?" Haladane asked automatically. What could his parents possibly have done that Armun and Thalia would lie to him for sixteen years about? Were they criminals? Worse?

"They were Blades," Thalia said.

Haladane blinked. "Blades?"

"Yes," Armun said. "Some of the finest warriors in the Empire, serving as the Emperor's bodyguards and agents."

"Until…" Haladane began.

"Yes," Armun said. "Until the Thalmor came." He practically spat the word.

The Thalmor. The word seemed to darken the room by its very utterance. Haladane was no expert on history, but he knew enough to understand the portent of what he had just heard.

The elven-supremacist government of the Aldmeri Dominion, the Thalmor had nearly destroyed the Empire during the Great War of the Fourth Era. The Empire had only saved itself through the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, which ended the war, but with terms heavily favorable to the Thalmor. It banned the worship of Talos, the man-god of mankind, and gave Thalmor agents free reign to hunt down any who practiced it, as well as establishing a permanent Thalmor embassy in Skyrim's capital of Solitude.

The Blades, loyal to the Empire to their last breath, were seen as threats by the Thalmor, and a great purge began, with most of the organization as well as much of their families being hunted down and killed.

"So," Haladane said, his voice trembling as he came to realize the truth, "the Thalmor killed my parents."

"As far as we know, yes," Armun said. "On the twelfth of Frostfall fifteen years ago, your parents came to our doorstep during the night, begging us to take you from them. They told us to raise you and protect you as our own, and we never saw them again."

"Protect me?" Haladane asked.

"As far as we knew at the time, you were still a legitimate target for the Thalmor," Thalia said, and Haladane realized for the first time what a great risk they had taken in adopting him.

"And what about now?" Haladane asked. "Am I still a…target?"

The silence around the table told him all he needed to know.

Haladane leaned back, his mind reeling as he attempted to take this all in at once. This was just too much. Too much at one time. In a matter of minutes he had gone from a young man without a care in the world to a wanted fugitive.

"I shouldn't be here," he said. "I'm a danger to all of you."

"That's not true," Armun said. "It's been sixteen years; for all we know, the Thalmor may have forgotten about you entirely. We haven't had so much as a single strange visitor in all those years."

"And besides," Thalia said, "the Empire and the Thalmor have been at peace for years now. It's those Stormcloaks that are causing all the trouble."

"Was there anything else he told you?" Haladane asked. "Anything at all?"

The two exchanged glances.

"What?" Haladane asked, leaning forward. "What is it?"

"Before your father left, he gave me a slip of paper and told me not to read it, but to keep it for you until the time came," Armun said. He paused, then said. "I guess this is it."

He left the table, heading back to his room before returning with a small piece of parchment rolled up and sealed with wax.

"This is yours," Armun said.

With shaking hands, Haladane took it, breaking the seal with painstaking care to not damage the paper.

Written inside was a single sentence:

_When the time comes that you are not who you once thought you were, talk to Delphine in Riverwood, and ask her what happened on the Twelfth of Frostfall._

"I won't ask you what it says," Armun said. "Those words are for your eyes alone. But I do ask that before you act, you take the time to think carefully about where you will go and what you will do."

Haladane nodded slowly, rolling the parchment back up and tucking it into a pocket. "I will," he promised.

For a moment longer, the table was silent as everyone mulled over these new developments, and then Thalia said, "On a bit of a lighter note, there is one other thing we have for you."

"Do I really want it?" Haladane said, only half-joking.

Thalia's smile was strained, but genuine. "Oh, I do believe you do," she said, reaching behind her to retrieve another letter from the counter. "This one's also for you; it was delivered just yesterday from Helgen."

From Helgen? There was only one person in Helgen that would bother to send him a letter.

Haladane practically snatched the letter as Thalia handed it to him, opening it up with an excitement he could scarcely contain and beginning to read:

_Dear Haladane,_

_I'm sorry that I have not been writing as much recently; life has been rather stressful lately. I do hope that you're having a wonderful sixteenth birth-day; I only wish I could be there to celebrate with you._

_However, if you are willing and able, I would like to make it up to you. If you are able, I can meet you in Helgen tomorrow morning and give you my best wishes in person._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Ariadne Mirasdaughter _

"Well?" Thalia asked, a grin chasing around the corners of her mouth. "What does she say?"

"She wants to meet me in Helgen tomorrow," Haladane said excitedly, glancing around. "That would be okay, right? I mean, I can get up early and do the chores tomorrow if you need-"

"I think that it will be just fine," Thalia interrupted, glancing at Armun.

"I've got a few errands for you to do in town anyways," Armun said with a smile. "I think it could be arranged."

"Thank you!" Haladane said. "You won't regret it, I promise!"

"I'm sure we won't, dear," Thalia chuckled as she pushed back her chair and began to collect the plates.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. He spent part of the evening practicing with his new sword behind the house on an old scarecrow, but he realized that he would have to find someone to teach him if he wanted to really learn how to use the weapon to its greatest potential; currently, in his hands, it was no better than a sharpened cudgel. Armun did not know how to fight with swords, only how to make them, but he was sure that at the very least there would be some soldiers in Helgen he could learn the basics from.

That night when he retired to his bed, he found sleep long in coming. How long he lay there, staring up at the darkened ceiling, he had no recollection, his mind too flustered by the day's events to fall into restful sleep. After what seemed like hours, he finally slipped into unconsciousness…

…_he was stalking a buck through the woods, into a deep and dark portion of the mountain forest into which he rarely ventured. He nocked an arrow to his string, pulling back and preparing to fire, and the deer suddenly transformed, morphing into a grinning Thalmor wizard, dark magic crackling at his fingers…_

…_he was running through a darkened tunnel, deep underground, with all manner of roots protruding from the walls, snagging at his clothing as he ran. Unknown monsters of darkness and shadow would rear up before him, and when he slashed at them with his sword, they would merely vanish, reappearing again farther down…_

…_he was in a green field, sitting on a hill with Ariadne, enjoying a meal as they watched the world go by. He looked over at her, and she looked so beautiful, with the wind blowing through her hair, laughing as he handed her a flower…_

…_and then the field was gone, replaced by a curtain of dancing flame. He looked around frantically, looking for Ariadne, but she was gone. The flames were growing higher, while the rumbling, evil laughter of some massive beast echoed across the burning plains…_

…_and then there was a voice. It was a great and terrible voice, with a strength that exceeded mere men. It was the voice of a god, terrible and thundering in its sound, and it proclaimed with such force that Haladane felt certain the world must surely fall to pieces from the sheer power behind it: "_Did you think me defeated?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone; I know it's been a long time since I updated anything, let alone this, but writing has been kind of a luxury for a while now. In any case, here you go. This chapter's rather long, but I couldn't find a good place to split it up so I hope you'll forgive me.**

Haladane rose with the dawn.

Moving quietly to avoid waking the rest of the family, he quickly dressed, pulling on a pair of respectable wool trousers and a green shirt. He stopped briefly to rinse his face in the washroom before eating a breakfast of cold cheese and bread, assembling another sandwich for later in the day and packing an apple into one of his pockets for Tarathal. A note from Armun lay on the table, informing the half-elf that he while in Helgen, he was to sell the deer hide, put in an order with the blacksmith for some iron with which Armun could forge horseshoes, and pick up a few extra turnips for Thalia.

Haladane was sure that there were more errands that needed to be done than just those three; Armun must purposefully have shortened the list to allow his nephew to spend more time in town. It was a kind gesture, and Haladane made a mental note to pick up something special for the family in return.

Taking his traveling cloak from where it hung next to the door, Haladane slipped out of the house, quietly closing the door behind him. The morning air was crisp, but not uncomfortably so, and he drew in several deep breaths to wake himself up as he strode over to the smokehouse. Retrieving the deer hide from where it had been hung, he rolled it up into a secure bundle and tied some twine around it, ensuring that it would not be damaged in any way before he brought it to market.

Tarathal was resting contentedly in his stable stall, but woke with an excited whinny the instant Haladane set foot inside the barn. Shaking his head at the beast, the young half-elf tossed the stallion the apple and set about securing his saddlebags as the horse munched happily away.

Wasting no time, Haladane led the stallion out of the barn, then placed foot into the stirrups and swung himself up into the saddle. Tarathal stomped his hooves, eager to be going, and Haladane obliged, tapping the horse's sides twice. Tarathal started out at a brisk trot, following the path that led from the farmhouse to the road.

The fields were beautiful under the morning sun, rippling amber waves of grain and barley. It would be a good crop this year, Haladane hoped, yielding both enough food for the family and some surplus to store and sell.

Soon, however, the fields faded from view as Tarathal joined the main road leading to Helgen. The town was a solid hour's ride away, but Haladane didn't mind; it gave him time to think, something he had been doing a lot of lately.

His parents had been Blades. The thought was at the same time exciting and disturbing. On the one hand, his mother and father had been elite warriors, protectors of the Emperor; it was a prestigious legacy to be handed.

And on the other hand, they were most likely dead. Even if they had somehow survived, they would now be wanted fugitives, hunted by the Thalmor.

And so would he.

Haladane knew little of the Thalmor. His uncle and aunt rarely discussed such matters, and so most of his information on them came from the enraged rants of local Nords. To hear them tell it, the Thalmor were pure evil, a group of scheming rats that would betray their own mother in an instant if it were politically advantageous.

Haladane didn't know what to make of that. The Nords, forced to abandon their religion under the White-Gold Concordat, had a right to be angry.

But if the Thalmor were still hunting Blades, then he could possibly be a target.

The half-elf's thoughts were disrupted as a red fox suddenly bolted across the road, its russet coat flashing in the sunlight. Haladane pulled Tarathal up to a stop for a moment, watching as the fox continued across the road, flicking its tail at the half-elf before vanishing into a patch of wildflowers.

Haladane shook his head. It was too fine a day to become wrapped up in thoughts of empires and destinies. He hadn't so much as seen a single Thalmor in the sixteen years he had lived in Skyrim.

And besides, he was going to see Ariadne. That thought alone was enough to cause him to grin. He tapped Tarathal's sides again, and the horse broke into a brisk canter. Helgen was only a few miles away now; he wanted to get there early enough to finish his errands before visiting Ariadne.

With the extra speed, it wasn't long before the silhouettes of stone walls and towers appeared in the distance. Helgen was a relatively small community, but due to its location near to the Cyrodilic border it also served as a base of operations for the Imperial Legion in southern Skyrim. The local Jarl didn't particularly mind, as the Legion soldiers made good business, as well as removing his responsibility to provide guards to protect the town. While the garrison had been relatively small during Haladane's childhood years, it had grown recently, what with the sudden Stormcloak rebellion.

That was fine; maybe he could convince one of the soldiers to give him a few swordsmanship lessons.

As Tarathal trotted up the stone road to the gates of Helgen, however, Haladane realized that things had changed indeed.

The Imperial garrison had not increased slightly; it had skyrocketed.

Normally, the gates would be guarded by a single soldier, likely a local militiaman leaning on a rusty spear and swigging from an old bottle of alto wine. Now, a full squad of Imperial legionnaires, all glittering with weaponry and armor, stood at brisk attention by the gates. Up on the ramparts, archers made their orderly rounds, scanning the road and forest with ever-vigilant eyes.

Frowning, Haladane slowed Tarathal to a steady plod as one of the legionnaires approached.

"Be on your way, citizen," the Imperial said. "Helgen is closed on official Imperial business."

Haladane blinked, nonplussed. "What?"

"I said, citizen, that Helgen is closed," the Imperial reiterated, irate. "Be on your way."

"But sir," Haladane protested, "I need to-"

"You are trying my patience, citizen," the legionnaire interrupted, a hand dropping to the sword at his waist. "Now, be on your wa-"

"Auxiliary, what is the meaning of this?" interjected a new, authoritative voice. Haladane looked over to see an Imperial sergeant approaching with an irritated expression.

"Sergeant, sir!" the legionnaire barked, snapping to attention. "The citizen was questioning my orders to vacate the premises."

"I was not-" Haladane began, but the sergeant beat him to it.

"Auxiliary, your orders are to guard this gate against any possible attack, not to harass passing citizenry," the sergeant said. "I don't know about you, but this boy hardly looks like a Stormcloak soldier to me." The sergeant gave Haladane a critical once-over. "Hell, he hasn't even started shaving yet."

Haladane's cheeks burned slightly at that remark, but he squelched his wounded pride and didn't protest.

"So, citizen, what is your business in Helgen?" the sergeant asked.

"I'm here from my family's farm," Haladane responded immediately and gesturing at his saddlebags. "Here to run a few errands."

"Very well," the sergeant said. "While you're in town, you'll have to leave your horse and any weapons you might be carrying at the gate. As long as you are inside the walls, you are under martial law and Imperial jurisdiction. Do you understand?"

"Uh, y-yes, sir," Haladane stammered in confusion. "What's going on?"

"None of your concern, citizen," the sergeant replied. "Now, if you'll please dismount, we'll take your horse to the stables and remove any weapons, which shall be returned to you when you leave."

Still in a state of disbelief, Haladane nonetheless dismounted, slinging the saddlebags over his shoulder. Another soldier approached and grabbed Tarathal's reins, and the stallion whinnied in protest, digging his hooves into the ground.

"Easy, old boy, easy," Haladane whispered into the horse's ear, giving Tarathal a soothing stroke of the mane. "It's just for a little while." The stallion gave a soft whinny, but nonetheless relented, flattening his ears as the soldier led him away.

"Now, just hand over any weapons you might be carrying, and we'll be done," the sergeant stated.

Haladane bit his lower lip. He was only carrying his hunting knife, but as a rule, he took that with him everywhere, ever since he had been attacked by a wolf while tending the outer fields as a young lad of barely thirteen. Through a stroke of dumb luck, he had been carrying the knife that day, and managed to kill the animal after a terrifying melee that had left him with several scars across his torso.

"Citizen. Your knife." The sergeant crossed his arms.

Letting out a breath, Haladane reluctantly unclipped the knife and its sheath from his belt and handed it over to the sergeant.

"Thank you," the Imperial said. "Are you carrying any other weapons?"

"No, sir," Haladane answered truthfully.

The sergeant frowned, examining him with a critical eye. With a flick of an armored wrist, he gestured for Haladane to turn around. The half-elf did so, and after a few awkward seconds, the sergeant finally grunted his assent. "Very well. Your mount and knife will be waiting in the stables." The sergeant turned around. "Auxiliary!" he shouted up at a soldier manning the parapets above. "Open the gates!"

"Opening gates!" came the hollered reply, following by a series of metallic _clanks_ as the gatekeeper went to work. With the irritating squeal of hinges that had gone too long since their last oiling, the wooden doors swung open, and Haladane hurriedly stepped through into the town of his birth.

It hadn't changed much; Helgen never really changed. The buildings were constructed in the traditional Nord way: long and low, with peaked and thatched roofs. The village was arranged in a series of semicircular concentric rings around the keep, a slightly-dilapidated stone tower at the north end of the town. Walking through the streets again, Haladane couldn't help but feel a slight sense of nostalgia.

A sense of nostalgia that was somewhat tempered by the fact that Helgen was now host to what appeared to be an entire army of Legion soldiers, parading through the streets in orderly columns and standing guard at intersections with stern expressions. And to Haladane's shock, he saw what appeared to be a Legion general, resplendent in gold-trimmed armor, seated upon a magnificent stallion near the main gate.

He was talking with someone, too, a group of men dressed in strange armor and…

_By the Divines, no,_ Haladane thought, his breath catching in his chest.

Thalmor.

There was nothing else they could be. Tall, powerful figures, clad in green-gold elven armor with glittering moonstone weapons at their sides.

Haladane quickly lowered his head and kept moving, drawing his hood up. He skirted around a nearby house, breathing a sigh of relief and leaning back against the wall as he slipped out of the elves' line of sight.

What were Thalmor doing here? And all the soldiers? Was this all some sort of elaborate trap? Haladane felt his heart begin to race, his mind quickly drawing conclusions. They had to be here for him. Somehow, they had found out that his parents were Blades. The game was up. He would never return to his family, or get to see Ariadne again, or-

"Can I help you?"

Haladane jumped at the question, turning around to see a tall Nord man standing in front of him, hands on his hips. He looked familiar, too…

"Haladane?" the man said, furrowing his brows as he attempted to peer past the hood's cowl. "Is that you?"

"Harald!" Haladane said, his memory returning. Harald White-heart owned the local tavern, and his family had been good friends of Haladane's while he had lived in Helgen. It was Harald's house that Haladane had been leaning against. Quickly, the half-elf pulled back his hood.

"Haladane, it is you!" Harald boomed jovially, stepping forward with a grin. "What's going on? What are you doing-?"

"Shh!" Haladane closed the distance between them with a swift stride and placing a finger on his lips in a plea for silence.

Silence was not something Nords, and especially Harald, were familiar with. "What?" he asked, painfully loud to Haladane's paranoid ears.

"What's going on here?" Haladane hissed, grabbing the older man's arm urgently. "With the soldiers? And the Thalmor? Are they arresting someone? Is-?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Harald said, putting out his hands. "Slow down. Let's take this-"

Haladane tightened his grip, fixing Harald with a frantic glare.

Harald awkwardly lowered his voice, seemingly uncomfortable with a conversation taking place at any volume other than a dull roar. "Let's slow down," he repeated, and Haladane grimaced; the man had about the same concept of subtlety as a horker. "Start again, from the beginning."

"What are the Thalmor doing here?" Haladane repeated in a whisper. "And all the soldiers? Are they waiting for someone?"

"They-" Harald began, but Haladane held up a hand to stop him; several nearby legionnaires were beginning to look over with interest.

"Let's continue this inside," Haladane suggested. "If you don't mind."

Harald frowned in confusion, but acquiesced. "Very well. Follow me."

Haladane obediently tailed the Nord, doing his best to appear innocuous as Harald walked around the corner of the house, opening the door and stepping inside.

"Katla!" Harald boomed, and Haladane winced as his voice returned to its normal volume now that he was inside the perceived safety of its home. "The Tavisson boy's back!"

"Really?" came the responding cry from the kitchen. "Little Hally?"

"Not so little now, by my ken," Harald said as he ducked into the dining room. "Get him some of that fresh bread!"

"Oh, that's not necessary-" Haladane began, but Harald cut him off.

"Nonsense!" the Nord guffawed. "You're a guest and a friend. We'd be ashamed to call ourselves Nords if we didn't give you a proper welcome."

"No, you don't understand," Haladane insisted, following Harald into the kitchen, where Katla was busily extracting a fresh loaf from a stone oven, and despite the circumstances, Haladane felt his stomach growl at the mouthwatering scent. "I don't have time to eat."

Harald frowned. "Now, Hal," he said sternly. "Food is a serious business. What's got you rushed?"

"Exactly what I've been trying to tell you for the past few minutes!" Haladane snapped. "What are all these soldiers and Thalmor doing here? Are they looking for me?"

"Are they…what?" Harald answered, shaking his head.

"Are they look-" Haladane began again, but Harald held up his hands. "Sit down."

"I-"

"Sit. Down."

Haladane sighed, but he knew from Harald's tone that he would brook no argument. He pulled out one of the solid pine chairs from the table and took a seat, taking a deep breath to calm himself as Harald sat down across the table.

"Now," Harald said, "you know I'm a simple man, so give it to me straight: what's got you in such a frenzy?"

"What happened here?" Haladane asked. "Why are there so many soldiers? And the Thalmor? What are they doing here? When did they get here?"

"The garrison was tripled only a week ago," Harald answered. "Took us all by surprise, I say."

"Why?"

"Not sure," Harald said. "The legionnaires are a tight-lipped lot, but a couple stopped by the local inn last night, and enough Nordic ale will get any man talking. Word is, some high-up Stormcloaks were caught crossing the border, and they're bringing them here for the execution. Perhaps a local steward, maybe even Ulfric Stormcloak himself," Harald leaned back across the table, folding his arms. "Either way, it's bad news for us."

"Us meaning…?" Haladane asked.

"Anyone who would call themselves a true son or daughter of Skyrim," Harald snarled. "The day the Empire bent its knee to those damn elves was the day it lost all allegiance from any true Nord."

"Now, now," Katla said, bustling over to the table. "Let's not have politics at the table," she requested, placing down a thick slice of bread smeared with fresh butter before each of them.

"It's not politics when they're to the point of chopping off heads, dear," Harald replied. "It's war."

"So that's what all the soldiers and Thalmor are here for?" Haladane asked. "They're going to execute the prisoners?"

"That's my guess," Harald said. "Likely won't even get a trial, not even a proper priest of Talos to oversee the execution, what with those thrice-damned Thalmor strutting about like they own the place." He took a hefty bite from the bread as he spoke, chewing ferociously. "No, it'll be quick. Not even a proper how-do-you-do before the axe comes swinging."

"Harald!" Katla exclaimed in a horrified tone. "We have company!"

"The boy's old enough, dear," Harald answered. "He deserves to know the truth."

Haladane nodded, nibbling on the end of his bread. It was delicious, as always, the crunchy crust and chewy interior complemented by the creaminess of the freshly-made butter, but he couldn't bring himself to concentrate on the food.

"And you're certain that's what the Thalmor are here for?" Haladane pressed.

"Fairly certain, yes," Harald responded, frowning. "What's it to you? Running a shrine to Talos out on that farm of yours, are you? Goodness knows, I could use one…"

"No, no, nothing of the sort," Haladane said hurriedly. "It's…it's…"

"It's what, boy?" Harald asked, chewing determinedly on the crust of his bread.

Haladane licked his lips, debating whether or not he should tell Harald, and by extension Katla, of his recent revelation. The White-hearts were old friends, and he trusted them with his life. However, if he did tell them, he would be entrusting them with a secret that could very well put his life in jeopardy, even if the Thalmor weren't here for him right now.

"Well, what is it, boy?" Harald said, finishing his bread. "Go on, spit it out-"

"My parents were Blades."

Deafening silence descended on the table.

_That went well,_ Haladane thought, swallowing the rest of the bread.

"Pardon?" Harald said.

Haladane took a deep breath. "Armun told me yesterday. My parents were Blades; they left me with my aunt and uncle sixteen years ago on the twelfth of Frostfall and then fled."

Again, there was a long stretch of silence around the table, and Haladane fidgeted uncomfortably, wondering if he had made the right decision.

His fears were allayed, however, as Harald gave a small smile. "Well, I've got to admit it answers a whole lot of nagging questions," he said. "But still…old Mathil? A Blade? And Raela, too?" He shook his head, giving a small laugh. "Who would've thought?"

Then, he blinked as something occurred to him. "That's why you were so worried about the Thalmor, eh?" he said. "Thought they were here for you?"

Haladane shifted. "Maybe."

Harald grinned, reaching across the table to give him a slap on the shoulder. "Well, don't worry, son," he said. "As much as I hate for any brother Nord to go the block, I can guarantee they're not here for you. And even if they were, they'd have to go through me first."

"Thanks," Haladane said with a smile, feeling a huge weight lifted off his chest. "I appreciate it."

"Nonsense," Harald insisted. "If there's anything else I can do for you, just let me know."

Haladane bit his lip. "Well, there is one thing…"

Harald arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, um, I was wondering," Haladane stammered. "If, uh…if…"

"If…?" Harald pressed.

"If I could pick some flowers from your garden later," Haladane said hurriedly, turning to face Katla.

"Of course, child," she said. "Whatever do you need them for?"

"Oh, I think I know," Harald said, leaning back as a wide grin stretched across his face. "It's that young Breton girl, isn't it? What's her name? Adrianne? Aria-?"

"Ariadne," Haladane interjected, a bit louder than he had intended, and Harald raised an eyebrow.

The half-elf sank awkwardly back into his chair. "Her name is Ariadne."

"Well, I'm sure she'll appreciate your efforts," Katla said sweetly.

"Goodness knows she's done nothing but talk about you ever since you've been gone," Harald said.

Haladane immediately straightened. "She has?" he asked. "Really? What did she say? Is she…?" The half-elf's questions drifted off as he saw the smirk pasted across Harald's face.

"Yeah, I'd say he's pretty whipped," Harald said, winking at Katla.

Haladane's cheeks burned, and he stood up hastily. "Well, I'll, uh…I'll just be going, then."

"Alright, son," Harald said, that insufferable grin still stretched across his face. "Say hello to Audria for me."

"Her name is Ariadne," Haladane muttered darkly, and Harald burst out laughing once again.

Cheeks flaming crimson, Haladane gave Katla his thanks and swept out of the kitchen.

Harald was still laughing when he left the house.

Once outside, Haladane took several deep breaths of the crisp air, running over his errands list and glancing inside his saddlebags. If all went well, he should be finished in the next hour, giving him several more hours in town before he would have to return home.

With that thought in mind, he set out at a brisk pace towards the market area. Despite the massive amounts of soldiers, life seemed to be going on as normal throughout the village, and many of Helgen's residents were out bartering and arguing in the traditional Nordic manner of commerce.

Haladane set a course for the local tanner's stall, where he successfully argued the price of the deer hide up to a respectable twelve septims. Pocketing the extra coin, he procured a half-dozen turnips from a vegetable vendor before heading to the town blacksmith.

Unfortunately, due to the massive amount of soldiers in-town, the Nord that ran the shop was currently swamped with orders and repairs, so Haladane was forced to wait in a fairly lengthy line before putting in his order. Even then, the smith was unable to fill the order immediately, but Haladane left with a promise that he would be notified as soon as the next shipment came in.

And just like that, he was free. Haladane rushed back over to the White-hearts' home, stepping into the garden behind their house. It was not a large space, but Katla's efforts were more than visible. Plants of all sorts flourished in the orderly rows and boxes, but Haladane's attention was fixed on the rows of flowers that adorned the area, a literal rainbow of colors and heady smells, from the lowly tundra cotton to the flamboyant Dragon's Tongue.

The combined aroma of the garden was intoxicating, and Haladane shook his head. He needed a clear mind if he was going to pick out an appropriate bouquet.

Yet the young half-elf found himself paralyzed by indecision. He had no idea what kind of flowers to choose, if some had certain connotations attached to them. He was a sixteen year-old farmboy who had spent more time in the woods than in the company of girls his age.

Who was he kidding? Ariadne was way out of his league. She probably had half the boys in Helgen wrapped around her finger by now. What if she didn't even recognize him-?

"Can I help you?"

Haladane whirled around to see Katla standing behind him, hands on her hips. "You looked like you were having some trouble."

"Of course," Haladane stammered, smoothing out his shirt. Wrapped up in his thoughts, he hadn't heard the woman approaching. "I…uh…I just don't quite know, um…"

"How to impress?" Katla supplied, a smile growing on her face.

"Exactly." Haladane acquiesced.

"Well, that's certainly an important decision," Katla agreed, stepping forward to survey the garden. "After all, first impressions are everything, right?"

"Right," Haladane said, rubbing his hands together. "So…what do you suggest?"

"That depends," Katla replied. "Hjaalmarch bluebells are in bloom this time of year, and make a suitable accompaniment to friendly gifts. If, however, your meeting is more...personal in nature, then may I suggest a Dawnstar Rose." Katla gestured to a pot on the windowsill of the house where three of the aforementioned flowers blossomed, snow-white roses with pale crimson streaks shot through.

"They're quite rare," Katla continued. "In the northern holds, it is customary to present one to a potential spouse to begin the courtship process."

Haladane blinked. "Come again?"  
>"Well, is that not why you're here?" Katla asked, leaning in closer. "I'm assuming that dreamy look you get in your eyes when you mention that girl's name isn't just from memory of her cooking, hm?"<p>

"Well, I…" Haladane began, his jaw working up and down for several moments as he scoured his brain for a response.

"Yes?" Katla pressed.

"Look," Haladane finally said. "I like her-"

"That much is obvious, dear," Katla said with a smile.

"_But_," Haladane continued, "I haven't seen her for nearly six years, and we were nothing more than friends."

"Well, that's how some of the best relationships start out, my dear," Katla said gently. "As very good friends."

Haladane blew out a breath. "Fair enough," he conceded. "But my point still stands. I want to rekindle our friendship before anything else."

Katla nodded. "I understand," she said sincerely. "Then you won't be wanting the rose?"

"It's wonderful," Haladane admitted, "but no. Do you have anything else?'

"I might," Katla said, tilting her head. "The girl is a Breton, correct?"

"Living with an Imperial family," Haladane answered, frowning, "but yes. Why?"

But Katla had already turned around, busily muttering to herself as she flitted from patch to patch like a bee. "Ah!" she exclaimed a few brief seconds later. "Here we go."

Turning around, Katla held up a box where a single flower flourished. It was breathtaking; five emerald-green, gold-tinged petals branched out from a rich amber center, whenceforth issued an exhilarating scent vaguely reminiscent of crushed mint leaves.

"The West Norman Greater Iris," Katla announced proudly.

"It's beautiful," Haladane breathed, reaching out to cup the box in his hands before a thought struck him. "Is this your only one?"

"Oh yes," Katla said. "They're quite rare, only growing naturally in a small part of western High Rock. I only managed to get this one from one of those roving Khajit trading caravans, and even then for a hefty price."

"Well, I can't possibly ask you to give that up for me," Haladane said, moving to hand the flower back, but Katla caught his arms.

"No, dear," she said. "Take it."

"I couldn't-" Haladane began, but Katla cut him off.

"No," she stated. "I insist. You wanted to make a good impression; I can guarantee a girl as sharp as Ariadne will recognize a Norman Iris immediately."

"You're sure?" Haladane asked.

"Completely, dear," Katla smiled. "Consider it a belated birthday gift."

"Well," the half-elf said, looking down at the flower with a smile. "Green is her favorite color."

Katla beamed. "Perfect. Now, let's see what else I have."

A few minutes later, Haladane was on his way, clutching a small, neatly-tied bouquet of mountain flowers, with the iris at the center. His feet knew the way, unforgotten memories guiding him to the house he sought as surely as any map.

The house of Ariadne's foster parents was an impressive one; her adopted father was a wealthy Imperial merchant with connections back in Cyrodiil, and thus had the coin to afford a two-story house, a rarity in Skyrim. It was located at the end of a row, near to Helgen's southwestern wall, and it appeared no worse for the wear than when he had last seen it nearly six years ago.

He walked slowly up the steps, mouth dry and heart pounding as if he were about to delve into a den of wolves. He raised his hand to knock on the door, and it shook like a leaf.

_This is ridiculous!_ he scolded himself. _You're a man now, and she's your oldest friend. Grow a spine and knock. _

Haladane bit his lip and willed his wrist to move, rapping the door three times.

_Now think of something to say,_ he ordered himself. _Something witty and clever and-_

The door flew open, and anything witty or clever that might have been poised on the tip of Haladane's tongue was immediately swept away in a storm of billowing hair and fabric as his arms were pinned to his side by a ferocious embrace.

"Hal!" Ariadne cried. "You came!"

"Of course," Haladane responded immediately, although his reply was somewhat muffled by her hair. Divines, she smelled amazing…

Haladane would have liked nothing more than to stay wrapped in her embrace for the foreseeable future, but they were interrupted by a good-natured voice from inside the house: "Now, now, Ariadne, let's not strangle our guest."

The two teenagers awkwardly disentangled themselves as Ariadne's foster mother, Claricia Miras, appeared at the top of the stairs. "Haladane," she said sweetly. "It's been too long."

"Far too long, ma'am," Haladane responded immediately, to which Claricia smiled.

"By all means, come in," she invited. "Ariadne, will you show him to the kitchen? Your father and I will be waiting."

"Of course, mother," Ariadne replied, but her eyes never left Haladane's.

Claricia glanced knowingly between the two for a moment before quietly slipping back out of view, leaving them alone.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. It was not uncomfortable or awkward, but simply the natural result of a long-overdue reunion between two old friends, the product of having too much to say and not knowing where to begin.

That was fine with Haladane. He was more than happy for that moment to remain captivated by Ariadne's gaze, drinking in every last detail of the face he had missed so dearly for so long.

The years had been kind to his childhood friend, he realized dimly. The pretty girl he remembered had grown into a truly beautiful young woman. She was clad in a simple green dress, a change from the masculine trousers she had preferred during their childhood escapades. Rich brown hair cascaded down her back in luscious waves, a few loose strands framing high, sculpted cheekbones and directing his attention once again to those breathtaking emerald eyes which so ensnared his own.

It seemed like years passed before he was finally able to regain control over his higher brain functions; namely, speech.

"Uh…hello," he said simply, holding his arms out slightly to indicate his understanding of the inadequacy of the greeting.

To his relief, the corners of Ariadne's mouth twitched upwards in a smile. "Hello," she replied in turn, her tone teasing yet sincere.

Cursing his vacant conversational skills, Haladane scratched the side of his head. "It's…uh…it's been a while, hasn't it?"

Ariadne nodded slowly. "It certainly has."

The silence came again, this time definitely awkward as Haladane desperately searched for some method of restarting the conversation.

He found it in the bouquet still clutched in his hand, forgotten in the heat of the moment. Tentatively, he raised his hand, holding the flowers forward. "I-I'm sorry if this seems strange, but, I thought…"

Exactly what Haladane thought was left uncertain, even to himself, as he trailed off weakly, once again cursing a vocabulary that chose to desert him in his moment of need.

Fortunately, Ariadne didn't seem to mind his obvious nervousness. She accepted the bouquet with a smile that made Haladane's knees wobble momentarily. "It's not strange," she assured him as she lifted the flowers to her nose to take an appreciative sniff. "Thank y-" her voice hitched for a moment as she caught sight of the centerpiece of the bouquet, one delicate eyebrow arching upwards. "Is that a-?"

"West Norman Greater Iris?" Haladane finished for her with a grin, proud that he had remembered the name.

"How did you get this?" she whispered, awed.

"I've, ah, got some connections," Haladane said cheekily, relieved that his speaking abilities seemed to be returning.

Ariadne punched him lightly on the arm. "Liar," she accused, but amusement sparkled in her eyes.

Haladane feigned hurt, clutching his arm, and Ariadne smiled, opening her mouth to speak again when they were interrupted.

"Ariadne, dear, your father and I are waiting," came Claricia's voice from the kitchen, and the two adolescents started.

"I'll just take these upstairs," Ariadne stated quickly, indicating the bouquet. "I'll be back in a minute. You head on in."

Haladane blinked. "Alone?"

Ariadne laughed, and Haladane reflected on what a pleasant sound it was. "Honestly, Hal, they're just my parents. You've met them before, remember?" she said, in a tone tempered with just the right amount of sarcasm.

"Well, yes," Haladane said, "but-"

Ariadne silenced him with a glance. "I'll be back in a minute," she repeated with a hint of her previous smile. "Head on in. Second doorway-"

"-on the right," Haladane finished, childhood memories making a welcome return.

Ariadne smiled and swept gracefully up the staircase.

Haladane watched her depart for a moment before forcing himself back to the present, his legs automatically re-tracing the path he had taken so many times before during his younger years to bring him into the Miras' kitchen.

Claricia was returning from the stove as he stepped in, a whistling tea kettle in hand. Ariadne's foster father, Jordas, was already seated at the head of the long wooden table. As befit an Imperial merchant of his stature, he was clean-shaven, dressed in fine robes, and a pair of glass spectacles, a rarity in Skyrim, were perched upon the end of his nose as he scanned the pages of what appeared to be a shipping manifest of some sort.

That was not a surprise. Even during Haladane's childhood years, Jordas had always been devoted to his work. He was not neglectful of his foster daughter, but the relationship between the two had always been a bit distant.

"Ah, Haladane," he said with uncommon warmth, setting aside the manifest as he caught sight of the young half-elf. "Welcome back. It's been a long time."

"It certainly has, sir," Haladane replied automatically, echoing his previous exchange with Ariadne.

"Well, don't just stand there," Jordas said, indicating the seat to his right. "Come on in, sit down. Believe it or not, we do remember you," he finished with what appeared to be a genuine smile.

"Thank you, sir-" Haladane began, but Jordas interrupted.

"No need for that," he said with another smile. "Please, just call me Jordas."

Haladane frowned, wondering as to where this sudden amicability was coming from, but certainly not unappreciative of the change. "Of course si-Jordas," he caught himself, and Jordas' smile widened.

Haladane took the seat proffered, thanking Claricia as she bustled around to pour him a cup of tea, which he sipped at idly as the pause in the conversation grew.

Meanwhile, Jordas' eyes had completed their circuit of the room and returned to Haladane. "Where's Ariadne?" he asked with sincere curiosity.

Haladane took another sip of the tea and began, "She's-"

"-right here," came a voice from the doorway, and all heads turned to see the subject of conversation enter, gliding quickly to a seat at Haladane's side and shooting Jordas a glance. "Honestly, Jordas, you don't think I would neglect a meeting with my oldest friend, did you?"

Jordas mumbled something that sounded like "beggars can't be choosers", but quailed under a withering glance from his wife, who sat down beside him.

Another pregnant pause descended upon the table, during which Haladane absently swirled the tea in his cup and wondered what exactly Jordas had meant by his previous statement. Claricia, ever the dutiful hostess, took it upon herself to break the silence.

"So, Haladane," she began, and the half-elf looked up to meet her gaze. "It's been so long; how are you doing?"

It was a predictable question, one that was obviously intended to let him direct the conversation, but for some reason Haladane found himself at a loss for an immediate answer, his experiences as a farmer and hunter suddenly seeming woefully inadequate under the gaze of such a successful businessman.

"I've been fine," he finally said. "Farm life isn't exactly glamorous, but it's honest work, and my-" his tongue momentarily caught as he had been prepared to say the words "parents", last night's revelations returning to the forefront of his mind. "-aunt and uncle keep me well-fed," he finished.

To his relief, no one questioned him on his obvious hesitation, and to his further surprise, Jordas was nodding interestedly. "And yesterday was your sixteenth birth-day, was it not?" he asked.

Haladane blinked, surprised that the Miras patriarch had remembered the date. Perhaps Ariadne had drilled it into his head. "Yes, it was," he confirmed.

Silence fell on the table again, during which Jordas looked at him expectantly. When no further details proved to forthcoming, he spoke up again. "Well, what are your plans? Surely now that you're a man you don't plan on staying a farmhand your whole life."

"Jordas!" Ariadne exclaimed, preparing to come to Haladane's defense, but Haladane calmed her by laying his hand over her own, a move which did not go unnoticed by Claricia and Jordas.

"It's alright," he insisted. "Like I said, farm life isn't exactly glamorous." Jordas smiled at that, but Haladane continued. "However, at the moment, I don't have any plans to leave. My aunt and uncle need me for this fall's harvest, at the least, but after that, I'm really not quite sure where I plan to go or what I plan to do." _Especially since I found out I might be a wanted fugitive_, he added silently.

Jordas' visage seemed to cloud disapprovingly at that, but he caught himself before he said anything. Again, the gap in conversation stretched, and once again, it was Claricia who bridged it.

"Well, if we're done grilling Haladane about his future," she said with a meaningful sideward glance at her husband, who visibly winced, "I believe Ariadne has some news of her own to share."

"You do?" Haladane asked, turning to face his friend at the same time that she replied, "I do?"

"Of course, dear," Claricia prodded. "Your lessons?"

Ariadne nodded her head quickly. "Oh, of course. My apologies."

"Lessons?" Haladane echoed.

"Yes, lessons," Ariadne said, drawing in a breath as she folded her hands primly in her lap. "About three years after you left, I was gardening out back when I dropped the shears and nearly severed my thumb." Her left hand twitched a little involuntarily at the memory, but she continued, unfazed. "I don't really remember exactly what happened, but suffice to say I…ah, well, I healed it."

Haladane blinked. "What?"

Ariadne smiled. "I healed it, Hal. Turns out that I'm magic-sensitive."

"She's been taking lessons from one of the mages in the Imperial garrison ever since," Jordas said proudly. "And by all accounts is a very sharp student."

Ariadne blushed a little at the praise, and Haladane was left once again trying to muster an appropriate response.

"That's...amazing," he finally said, unable to come up with anything else that adequately described his feelings, and her blush deepened. "But, why didn't you mention this in your letters?"

Ariadne opened her mouth to answer, but Jordas beat her to it.

"We didn't feel it was safe to send such information via traditional correspondence," he stated. "The local Nords are especially distrustful of magic-users, and being an Imperial family in these…strenuous times…well, let's say we're already a target for those resentful of the Empire. We've kept her lessons as secret as possible, but we couldn't risk that the mail might be…compromised. I expect that you will extend us the courtesy of this secret."

Haladane nodded slowly. "Of course. I…understand," he said, though he really didn't. He wasn't aware that tensions were that high in Helgen, although his prior visit to the White-heart's home now seemed to make more sense.

Still, the Miras family had lived in Helgen for years; surely they were respected in the community. The thought of Ariadne being at risk because of her adopted Imperial family was an uncomfortable one indeed.

His fears were only strengthened a moment later when Jordas glanced outside the window and then rose. "Well, I should probably go. Wouldn't do to be late for the afternoon's entertainment."

Haladane frowned. Could he possibly be referring to the execution Harald had mentioned?

"Must you really go to that horrid spectacle?" Claricia pleaded, grasping her husband's arm and confirming the half-elf's suspicions. "The town is divided enough as it is."

"And that is exactly why I must go," Jordas declared, bending down to give his wife a kiss on the cheek before heading for the door. "To show the seditious ones in Helgen that I, that we, will not be cowed."

Claricia sighed, obviously unsatisfied with his answer, and Jordas paused in the doorframe, turning back to face her. "Besides," he said, "General Tullius is in town. If I do not attend, he may begin to suspect our loyalties."

"And there's nothing more important than appearances," Claricia said softly, with a biting sarcasm that Jordas either missed or chose to ignore.

"I'm glad you understand," he said flatly, taking a fur hat off the rack and stepping out of the kitchen. A moment later, the door to the house opened and closed quickly, allowing yet another silence to descend upon those remaining inside.

"He's going to the execution, isn't he, mother?" Ariadne asked, and Claricia winced at the mention of it.

"Aye," she said softly. "You know your father. Ever the loyal Imperial." She sighed, and for a moment Haladane truly pitied the Miras, stuck between two sides in a rapidly-polarizing town.

"At least he didn't make you kids go and see it," she stated, standing up and beginning to bustle about the kitchen. "Anyways, I'm sure you two have more than enough to discuss between yourselves. Why don't you go and talk somewhere, hm?"

"Are you sure?" Haladane asked immediately. "I can help with the chores if you-"

"Pish-posh, young man," Claricia interrupted, a smile returning to her face. "You're a guest here. Ariadne's guest, at that. I won't have you doing any foolish dish-washing."

Seeing Haladane was about to protest, she held up a finger. "No. Go on, you two. Shoo."

Ariadne came to the rescue, taking Haladane's hand and guiding him out of the kitchen even as he stammered his thanks. "Come on," she said. "I know where we can talk."

True to her word, she led him quickly up the stairs and out onto a porch overlooking the main road through town. The keep was visible, but the corner of the house blocked any view of the courtyard below, making sure that the execution would not cast its grim pallor over their conversation.

Not directly at least, Haladane thought, noticing the crowd that was beginning to collect near the keep, and he was momentarily sickened by the thought that people would go out of their way to observe such an event.

"Hal?" Ariadne poked him with her elbow, bringing him back to the present. "Are you just going to stare at the crowd all day?"

"Of course not, 'Riad," he said, his childhood nickname for her slipping off the tongue before he could stop it. "I'd much rather stare at you."

Ariadne's cheeks flushed, and for a moment Haladane was torn between cursing himself for making such a bold statement and admiring the change in her complexion.

"Flatterer," she huffed, pushing him towards a small table near the railing of the porch.

"Guilty," he admitted with what he hoped was a roguish smile, sliding into one of the chairs as Ariadne seated herself across from him. Belatedly, he noticed that the bouquet he had brought earlier was now blooming from a vase in the center of the table.

In what seemed to be a theme for the day, another silence descended on the table, but Haladane was determined to show that he could in fact carry on an intelligent conversation.

"So," he said, crossing his arms. "Magic, huh?"

"Yes," Ariadne said softly. "Magic."

Haladane frowned at her seeming unwillingness to divulge more. "Well, uh, can I see some?" he finally asked.

"Can you what?" Ariadne asked, an edge in her voice.

"See some magic?" Haladane pressed. "You know, like how you healed your thumb?"

"I'm not some kind of show horse, Hal!" Ariadne snapped abruptly, her eyes flashing dangerously, and Haladane recoiled as if struck.

"I never said you were," he said hurriedly. "It's just, you know, I don't know much about magic. I'm curious."

"Yeah, that makes two of us," Ariadne said bitterly, her gaze fixed on the table.

Haladane's brow furrowed in a concerned frown. "'Riad, what's wrong?" When she remained silent, he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. "It's alright; you can tell me."

Ariadne let out a long breath, staring at their hands, and then finally looked up to meet his eyes again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "it's just that…"

"What? Just that what?"

"Just that this whole magic thing hasn't been all roses, if you know what I mean," she said.

Haladane held her gaze. "No, I don't."

Ariadne sighed, looking away. "You heard what Jordas said about Nords being distrustful of magic. We haven't told anyone explicitly that I have this…_gift_…but that hasn't stopped the rumors."

Haladane shot up in alarm. "What rumors?"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Ariadne asked sweetly. "I'm sure you must have heard them all the moment you stepped into the marketplace. According to some, I'm an Imperial spy. Others maintain I'm just some witch who wandered down from that Hagraven nest at Orphan Rock. At first it was laughable, but after your third time getting doused with 'holy water' in public by a bunch of pranking kids, it kind of starts to lose its appeal."

Haladane's mouth was hanging open in shock by the time she finished. "'Riad, I'm sorry," he said. "I-I had no idea-"

"No, it's quite alright," Ariadne said, squeezing his hand. "I assure you, I'm used to it now-"

"And that's _not _alright, 'Riad," he growled, starting to stand up. "Who are these kids? Where are they? I swear I'll-"

"No, Hal, honestly, it's alright," Ariadne insisted. "Please, just sit down."

Grumbling, Haladane nonetheless acquiesced, returning to his seat.

"You're my knight in shining armor, now?" she asked teasingly, but Haladane refused to be mocked.

"You did the same for me," he reminded her.

For a moment, the two lapsed into silence again, reminiscing about the days when it had been Ariadne who had to rescue Haladane from the taunts of other children.

"Yes, I did," Ariadne admitted, "but things were different then."

"Were they?" Haladane asked, his fingers habitually returning to trace the slight points of his ears. "I haven't changed."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Ariadne said. "Of course you have."

Haladane fixed her with a blunt stare. "How?"

Ariadne stammered for a moment. "Ah, well, you're…"

"…I'm?" Haladane pressed.

Ariadne pursed her lips. "Taller."

Haladane blinked slowly. "Taller," he repeated.

"Yes," Ariadne said. "Taller."

"Oh, well that's great," Haladane said. "So the only way I've changed in six years is some vertical advancement. If only I'd been this tall when I was ten, the bullying would've gone away."

"That's not what I meant and you know it, Hal," Ariadne snapped. "You've changed more than that."

Haladane leveled the question again: "How?"

This time, however, Ariadne was ready. "You're more mature, for one. Look at us, having a conversation about age and bullying. By now, the old Haladane would probably be wondering how many of those flowers he could fit into his mouth, not bothering to check if one of them was poisonous first," she said, referring to an embarrassing incident during the harvest festival eight years ago that had ended with Haladane losing his considerable dinner during the midst of the celebration. She knew she had struck home when he gave a sheepish grin at the memory, but she continued, "And that's not it. You're more outgoing, more confident, more perceptive. You somehow found a Norman Iris," she said, gesturing to the bouquet on the table. "And you're much more handso-"

She abruptly clamped her lips shut, suddenly becoming extremely interested in the pattern of the wood grain and leaving Haladane wondering if that last word had been what he thought it was.

"Anyways," Ariadne said. "The point is that you've changed."

Haladane nodded slowly. "I'm still going to beat those kids up if I find them."

Ariadne laughed, and Haladane thought he could listen to that sound all day. "Much appreciated," she said, but slowly the mirth died away. "Still, it's just been…"

"Been what?" Haladane asked.

"Hard," Ariadne said. "Not having any friends in town. Plus since I've been taking my lessons from a Legion mage, Jordas has been trying to pressure me into joining up with them, becoming a battlemage or something after…" she trailed off

"You? Joining with the Legion?" Haladane wondered aloud, trying to picture Ariadne in Imperial armor and failing miserably. "I mean, not that I don't think you could," he said hurriedly, "but…"

"But it's a little far-fetched?" Ariadne supplied with a faint smile, and Haladane nodded in agreement.

He abruptly frowned as he remembered something. "You said 'after'," he stated. "After what?"

Ariadne drew in a deep breath and didn't answer immediately.

"'Riad?" Haladane asked, becoming alarmed. "After what?"

Expelling the breath, Ariadne leaned in across the table. "Hal, this is going to be difficult no matter how I say it, but you deserve the truth of why I invited you here today."

"Because you wanted to wish me a happy birth-day?" Haladane suggested hopefully.

"Of course," Ariadne said with a smile, "but that's not it. This…" she worked her jaw, as if forcing it to expel the unwanted words, "…this is probably the last time we'll get to see each other for a long time."

Haladane felt like someone had punched him in the gut. "W-what?" he wheezed.

"Next week, I'm leaving Helgen," she said. "Jordas had me enrolled with a magical college down in Cyrodiil. He seems convinced that it's the best future for me."

Haladane's mind was in a panic, refusing to believe that the Divines would be so cruel as to reintroduce him to his best friend only to steal her away a week later. Still, he made an effort to maintain calm as he forced out the words, "Do you want to go?"

Ariadne buried her face in her hands. "I don't know. I want to pursue my magic, I know that much, but…it's so far away, and I won't know anyone there, and-"

"You'll do fine, 'Riad," Haladane said quietly, his obligation to encourage an old friend overpowering any selfish pleas for her to stay.

"You really think so?" she asked, lowering her hands, and Haladane took them in his own, stroking her thumb softly. "I _know _so," he answered with an encouraging smile.

Ariadne blushed at the compliment, but continued. "Well, do _you_ want me to go?"

Haladane thought for a long, tortured moment, his mind warring with itself, but in the end, the conclusion was foregone. What kind of friend would he be if he held her back from her dreams? "Go," he said quietly.

Ariadne's eyebrows shot up. "You're sure?"

Haladane smiled, even as a dull ache seemed to blossom in his chest. He was losing her again. After all this time, all this waiting, they would be separated once more.

Only this time, she was leaving. On her own terms.

"Sure," he affirmed. "I couldn't in good conscience ask you to go against your parents and your dreams."

"Oh, Hal," she seized his hand, eyes brimming with thanks as she leaned forward. "You're such a good friend."

_Yes, _Haladane thought bitterly, _and now that's all I'll ever be. _Nonetheless, he kept up the smile, for his friend if nothing else.

She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face before leaning back in her chair, and Haladane reluctantly let her hand slip from his grasp. "That's good," she said, " because there's really not much I can do to stop it."

"What do you mean?" Haladane asked.

"I don't turn sixteen for another two months, Hal," she reminded him pointedly. "Until then, I'm legally a ward of my foster parents. They can send me wherever they wish. Short of running away, I have no choice if I want to remain heiress to the family business."

"Well, at least they aren't trying to marry you off," Haladane ventured, hoping to introduce a bit of levity, but to his dismay he saw Ariadne shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"No…" he began, panic welling up in his chest again.

"Why do you think Jordas was being so polite today?" Ariadne asked rhetorically. "It wasn't just out of the goodness of his heart."

Haladane frowned. That would explain the older Miras' sudden friendliness, but that would mean…

"Wait…me?" Haladane asked, pointing a finger at himself.

Ariadne blushed again, this time rather severely, her cheeks flaming. "Turns out that when half the town thinks you're a sorceress, and the other half hates your guts for being in an Imperial family, the pool of interested bachelors tends to…shrink."

"That's what he meant by 'beggars can't be choosers'," Haladane wondered aloud, still coming to terms with the revelation, unsure whether to feel insulted or honored. He decided to split the difference and go with 'confused'.

Ariadne nodded. "He's been pressuring me for a while, inviting whoever he can over to show me off like a piece of meat," she said bitterly. "Naturally, since most of the locals won't come near me with a ten-foot pole unless they're carrying garlic and wolfsbane, and since Jordas is such a staunch loyalist, the majority of my suitors have been young soldiers from the garrison."

Haladane felt rage coursing through his veins once again, and with great effort he quenched the desire to storm over and began dismantling the keep stone by stone.

Seeing the fire that passed through Haladane's eyes, Ariadne quickly continued. "Don't worry, I haven't accepted any of them. They're young soldiers, after all, and tend to have…one-track minds."

"And Jordas?" Haladane pressed, his fingers dancing restlessly on the table.

Ariadne sighed. "I guess I've been unfair to him. To his credit, he hasn't forced me to accept any of them; he may be distant, but he loves and respects me in his own way, and wants the best for me. He's just…getting impatient."

Haladane frowned. "How so?"

"He has no son, Hal," Ariadne stated simply. "No male heir to take up the family name or business." She bit her lip. "It weighs heavily on him, I know, being the last in the Miras line. I suppose he just wants the business to carry on, in lieu of his name."

"But…why me?" Haladane asked, still confused.

"You're an old friend, and half Imperial, Hal," Ariadne reminded him gently. "I suppose he figures that half is better than none."

Haladane snorted, working his jaw sullenly. "Yeah. Half. I should be used to that by now."

Ariadne's features melted into a look of contrition. "I'm sorry Hal, I didn't mean to-"

Any old anger Haladane might have been trying to resurrect died immediately at the sight of her. "No, it's alright, I'm sorry," he assured her. "I overreacted."

Ariadne gave a grateful smile, and another pause loomed in the conversation before Haladane shook his head. "So," he said, "Jordas thinks that you…and…I-"

"Don't get any ideas, mister," Ariadne interrupted with a mock glare, but there was a brief flash of something else in her eyes that Haladane couldn't quite identify. Was it…longing? Hope?

"Wouldn't dream of it," Haladane assured her with a smile, and left it at that.

"Well," Ariadne said after another beat, "I for one am thoroughly exhausted with such topics. It's a fine summer's day; surely there are more pleasant things to discuss in our little time left together."

"Agreed," Haladane said, but it seemed that whatever pleasant things were in mind were fated to remain undiscussed, as a voice rang out from below.

"Make way for the prisoners! Make way!"

Haladane started, and automatically turned to look over the railing. A pair of rickety, horse-drawn carts were making their rattling way down the main street, driven by grim legionnaires. The carts were filled with a motley collection of prisoners, most of whom looked too exhausted to even acknowledge the seething, jeering crowds which now lined both sides of the street.

But then, as the carts drew nearer, a hush seemed to settle over the crowd, and whispers began to circulate through the midst.

"Is that really him?"

"It can't be!"

"The war is over, then?"

Haladane had no idea what they were referring to until Ariadne came up alongside him, similarly intrigued, and gasped. "That's him!"

"Who?" Haladane asked.

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, of Windhelm, the leader of the rebellion!" Ariadne explained, gesturing at the rear cart, wherein a blue-cloaked Nord sat, somehow managing to seem proud and regal despite the ropes which bound his wrists and the gag which silenced him. A pair of legionnaires rode on either side of the cart, spears at the ready in case any Stormcloak sympathizer in the crowd tried to make a move. "If they've captured him, then the war might be over!" Ariadne continued, amazed. "This'll be a pleasant surprise indeed for Jordas."

The crowd realized that its suspicions were true, and the cacophony of noise returned again, the furious roars and epithets of angry Nords clashing against the jeers and taunts of the legionnaires and loyalists. Haladane feared a riot might break out, but for now, the Imperial spearpoints seemed to be keeping the angry crowd at bay.

It was amidst the chaos that Haladane's eyes were inexplicably drawn to the man sitting across from Ulfric in the cart. He was a Nord, just like the soon-to-be-deceased rebel leader, with a head of golden hair and bright, seeking eyes which darted all around. He was not dressed in the same finery as the Jarl across from him, but somehow his prisoners' rags did not make him seem any less fearsome.

The unnamed Nord's eyes flicked up to meet Haladane's for a brief moment, no longer than a second, but for some reason, Haladane felt a chill pass over him, the man's gaze lucid and penetrating despite the gravity of his situation.

This was no ordinary man. That much was clear to him, though he knew not how. And he couldn't shake the feeling that this was not a man whose head the Divines would simply let roll off the chopping block.

The carts soon passed beyond the corner of the Miras family house which obscured their vision of the courtyard, and Haladane reluctantly returned to his seat, doing his best to ignore the noise of the crowd as Ariadne likewise resumed her previous position across the table.

"Who was that?" he asked. "The Nord, across from Ulfric."

"I don't know," Ariadne admitted. "I've never seen him before, and the crowd didn't seem to recognize him, but I couldn't help but feel he was…"

"Different?" Haladane supplied.

"Yes, different," Ariadne said, her eyes looking off into the distance. "I sensed…great power, from him. Not magical, like my own, but something else. Something...deeper, something…older." She shook her head. "I've never felt anything like it before."

"Well," Haladane said, "if he's headed to the same place as Ulfric then-did you hear that?"

Ariadne frowned. "Hear what?"

Haladane cocked his head, listening intently for what he could have sworn was some distant sound, but it had ended as suddenly as it came.

"Hear what?" Ariadne asked again, but Haladane shook his head.

"Never mind," he said, "I guess I'm just hearing things."

Ariadne opened her mouth to speak, but just as she began her sentence, the sound came again.

It was much louder this time, much closer, easily audible over the noise of the crowds below. It bore some resemblance to the roar of an angered bear, but was much deeper and more powerful; he knew no bear that could roar in that manner. Haladane stood bolt upright, his chair clattering to the deck behind him.

"You heard that?" he asked, and Ariadne nodded quickly, standing as well even as the noise from the crowd below seemed to drop away, people and soldiers alike abandoning their yells to listen.

They were not disappointed.

If the previous sound had been loud, the next was positively deafening. It came howling down from the eastern slopes with the strength of the fiercest winter gale, shaming all but the most powerful rumbles of summer thunder and seeming to feed upon the terrified screams of the crowd. Haladane clapped his hands over his ears to shield them from its power, a black pit of fear opening in his stomach. It was a fell sound, emanating from some nameless terror, which echoed and amplified off the black mountainsides and seemed to swell until it filled the entire world. It was elemental, inhuman, but contained an unmistakable undercurrent of intelligence, some nightmarish, otherworldly consciousness. It was the roar of some long-chained beast finally set free. It was the herald of some ancient horror, returning now at the end of an age.

It was fear.

And so it was that a pair of massive black wings blotted out the sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews; I'm honestly quite flattered by all the support. **

**Also, twenty Internets to whoever can spot the painfully-obvious famous fantasy reference in this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: To all the new lawyers that spend their time trolling through fanfiction, looking for broke teenagers to sue, I obviously don't own Skyrim.**

Chapter Three

Before this day, Haladane had thought that he knew fear. He had faced it before, in the form of wolves and bears, ravenous animals that he had encountered in his many wanderings, and in its more elemental forms, when it came wrapped in the howling winds of a winter blizzard that buried his campsite beneath feet of snow, or when a careless misstep while fording a dangerous river resulted in a tumultuous ride courtesy of the unforgiving current. In all these occasions and more, Haladane had faced down his fear and survived, making it a point of pride for him that he could react calmly and quickly, whatever the circumstances.

But now, as he watched the town of Helgen fall under a shadow as dark as midnight, all the previous instances in which he had feared for his life, all the snarling wolves and foaming rapids, were swept aside like leaves before an autumn gale. They were nothing, laughable compared to the sheer, utter terror which now held the half-elf firmly in its grip.

It was a state he had never experienced before, fear in its most pure, undiluted form, a horror so great that it paralyzed his very limbs, holding his body rigidly in place, his stomach clasped in an iron vice and his heart hammering against his ribs, gaze dumbly fixed on the skies even as his mind screamed at him to run, to find a dark hole somewhere and burrow into the earth in the vain hope that the dirt and mud could conceal him from the all-seeing eyes of the beast which circled above.

And then, with yet another roar that split the heavens asunder, the beast descended.

Dropping like a thunderbolt out of the pure blue skies, its great wings flared open and it landed with incomprehensible force atop the dilapidated Helgen keep. The ancient tower visibly shuddered under the impact, wooden supports groaning and creaking in protest even as chunks of ruined stone rained down.

For a brief moment, there was silence, the throats of those screaming below frozen in fear, and all motion stilled as the people of Helgen beheld their doom.

The dragon was gargantuan, its reptilian bulk dwarfing the terrified forms of those below. From the ivory fangs which protruded from its slightly-opened maw, to the twin horns which sprouted from the rear of the nightmarish head, to the wicked ebony claws which tipped its three-toed feet and leathery, bat-like wings, to the arrowhead-shaped tail which flexed powerfully back and forth to counter the weight of the beast's torso, it was plain to see that this was a creature designed for a singular purpose: to kill. Death incarnate was plainly written across its every feature, glinting from each obsidian scale and beckoning from each stygian talon, lending the great beast a terrible but undeniable dignity, the twisted grace that cloaked Death's chosen emissary.

And the eyes. The great vermillion orbs which burned forth from deep within the massive skull were those of Death himself, smoldering with the intensity of eons of rage, surveying the world with an omniscient, contemptuous gaze that was devoid of pity or mercy. They swept over the crowd, which quailed before them, helpless before their searching scarlet depths.

And then the screaming started again.

Within seconds the crowd degenerated into a seething, roiling mass, people shoving, kicking, and biting, all else forgotten as they responded to that single overpowering instinct to _get away_. Even soldiers cast away helmets and spears, shedding any scrap that might slow them down in their mad dash for survival.

The dragon let out what could only be described as a disgusted snort and then opened its maw, calling aloud to the heavens in a great and terrible voice the words of some language Haladane held no recollection of. The very bones of the earth seemed to tremble in response to the uttered tongue, hearing again for the first time in ages the dialect that preceded all others, the tongue of power so long banished from this world.

And the world responded. Haladane watched in fascinated horror as the very elements obeyed the dragon's command. A bitter wind sprang into existence, shepherding together a great wall of dark cloud out of what had once been a bright blue sky. The sun was blocked out, casting the world into a sudden dusk even as a malevolent light seemed to glow from within the bank of clouds.

The first meteor came plummeting down from the heavens as if hurled from the hand of an angry god, wreathed in flame. It struck a tavern located along the main road, smashing the sturdy Nordic building into a thousand burning splinters and immolating whoever might have been inside. More followed, a steadily-increasing rain of deadly projectiles which burst open amidst the panicking crowds. Thatched straw roofs and dry pine walls provided all the fuel the conflagrations could ever need, and the flames quickly began to spread from structure to structure, Haladane and Ariadne watching in horror as Helgen succumbed to the fire.

The dragon, meanwhile, still remained atop the old keep, surveying its handiwork and reveling in the absolute panic of the crowds. Finally, it seemed to deign to notice the few Imperial soldiers who remained at their posts, loosing poorly-aimed arrows which largely bounced harmlessly off the beast's scaled sides. Turning its head to face a contingent of brave, if foolish, archers, the dragon parted its jaws, and a jet of roiling flame so bright that Haladane instinctually averted his eyes spilled forth, rolling over the unfortunate soldiers with a crackling roar that was only accentuated by their agonized-if brief-screams.

Those tortured wails proved to be the kick which finally shook Haladane out of his fear-induced torpor. "Let's go!" he yelled, grabbing Ariadne's arm, but the Breton girl remained rooted in place, her eyes transfixed by the apocalyptic sight before her.

"Come on!" Haladane pleaded, his voice cracking. "We've got to get out of here! Your parents-"

At that, Ariadne started, breaking free of her paralysis. With eyes still wide-open, she gave a jerk of her head to show that she had heard and leapt for the door back into the house. Haladane turned to follow when he caught sight of the bouquet he had brought her still resting in the vase. Acting on impulse, his fingers reached out to pluck the Norman Iris from its position in the center, placing the flower into a pocket just as a gust of hot wind tipped over the vase, scattering the remaining flowers into the blazing town below.

Not willing to press his luck any further, Haladane followed Ariadne into the house, leaping down the stairs to catch up with the girl as she rounded into the kitchen to find a frantic-looking Claricia brandishing a frying pan as if it were a mace.

"What's going on out there!?" she demanded, even as Ariadne choked out the word "dragon".

Claricia went rigid. "The cellar," she began, "you need to get to the-"

With a deafening crash, the ceiling exploded inwards, beams snapping like twigs as a meteor smashed squarely into roof above where the Imperial woman was standing. Time seemed to slow as right before it hit, Haladane, operating on instinct, grabbed Ariadne by the shoulders and, ignoring her shriek of "Mother!", flung her behind him, back into the hallway and then fell atop her, covering her body with his own.

The shockwave from the explosion pulverized what remained of the kitchen, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the house. The kitchen door, blown off its hinges by the force, landed squarely on Haladane's back, driving the wind out of him even as it luckily shielded them from the worst of the flying shrapnel.

The flames, however, were another story. As they expanded from the crater, the dry door caught fire, flames racing up its length and raising agonizing blisters up Haladane's back. Roaring in pain, he rose up, heaving the flaming door off of them and swatting at his clothing to extinguish the small tongues of fire which clung to him.

Turning back to Ariadne, his eyes widened as he saw her preparing to dash back into the flaming kitchen, where a single pale hand could barely be seen protruding from a pile of wreckage.

"No!" Haladane bellowed, grabbing her from behind in a bear hug and bodily lifting her off the ground, even as she fought and kicked and clawed at him.

"Let me go!" she cried. "I have to save her!"

"She's dead, Ariadne!" Haladane insisted. "You can't save her! We need to get away!"

But the young Breton would have none of it. She drove her elbow backwards into Haladane's stomach, driving the air out of his lungs as she bucked out of his grasp. The half-elf stumbled backwards with an _oof _of surprise_, _but as Ariadne prepared to leap through the wall of flames that now guarded the entrance to the kitchen, the house was suffused with another tortured groan of stressed supports and weakening beams. Alarmed, Haladane dove forward once again, tackling Ariadne out of the way as the roof above them caved in, sealing off the kitchen behind a cairn of broken timber and a haze of dust.

Coughing violently, Haladane rolled off of Ariadne as she staggered to her feet. She took one look at the wall of debris now separating her from the kitchen and let out a cry of grief and rage, attacking the barrier with her bare hands as she tried to wrestle a beam five times her size out of the way.

Stumbling over to her, his ears still ringing from the din, Haladane grabbed her arms. "'Riad!" he choked out. "Stop! We have to go!"

"No!" Ariadne insisted. "I can't leave her!"

"Dammit, Ariadne, she's gone!" Haladane bellowed, heaving her away from the wreckage before she injured herself. "And we will be too if we don't get out of here!" His words were punctuated as another section of the hallway caved in, flames racing towards them along the hardwood floor.

Ariadne recoiled as if slapped at his words, but at the look that came over her face he knew that he had gotten through. "The-the cellar," she stammered. "She said to go to the cellar,"

Haladane shook her shoulders, perhaps a bit more forcibly than he had intended, but with the steadily-collapsing hallway behind them, he figured that it would be safest to leave apologies for later. "Where?" he asked.

She furrowed her brows. "This way!" She declared, bounding off into an adjacent hallway, Haladane hot on her heels.

And not a moment too soon, as the ceiling above where they had just been standing splintered inwards, one of the crucial support beams that ran down the length of the house snapping under the stress.

That proved to be the death knell for the Miras house. All around them the air was suddenly suffused with a dire combination of creaks and groans, the fire having weakened the supports to the point of complete failure. Sprinting through the ever-thickening smoke, Haladane fought to keep his watering eyes on Ariadne as she ran pell-mell for the end of the hallway.

Dimly, Haladane registered the sound of snapping timber, and a quick glance behind him showed the roof of the entire hallway sagging inwards like a wet blanket. Eyes widening in alarm, he put on an extra burst of speed as he saw Ariadne stoop down to open a small hatch at the end of the hallway.

"Come on!" she cried, dropping through the hole, and Haladane needed no further encouragement. At the first deafening _crack _of the collapsing roof behind him, he squeezed his eyes shut tight and leapt down the tiny hatch just as the Miras' home came crashing down in a whirlwind of burning timber.

Of course, having cheated death so narrowly, it was only expected that he would pay a price. Haladane tumbled down the staircase that led into the Miras' cellar, hitting every step with a grunt of pain as his arms and legs flailed against the unyielding stairs.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he hit something soft, and from the muffled cry of surprise before he landed flat on his back, his head smacking painfully against the dirt floor, he knew Ariadne had been trying to catch him.

"'Riad!" he gasped, scrambling to his feet, struggling to see in the dark cellar. "I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Hal, just a little dizzy," she said groggily, climbing back to her feet with a rueful smile.

Or at least, that's what he assumed she was doing from the sound of her voice, as it was nearly pitch-black in the cellar. The house had collapsed on top of them, and there hadn't exactly been time to grab a lantern on their way down.

Haladane was in the process of reaching out with his hands to ascertain their surroundings, his fingers running over a basket containing an assortment of knotty objects he figured were rutabagas, when he heard a muttered incantation from Ariadne's position.

He was then forced to avert his eyes as a bright orb of bluish-white light sprang into existence, floating up above Ariadne's head. Blinking rapidly to adjust his vision, he was relieved to see that she seemed fine, aside from a few minor cuts and scrapes.

"That's a neat trick," he said, gesturing towards the floating light, and in spite of the situation and everything that had happened, Ariadne gave a small smile. "Thanks," she said quietly. With a flick of her wrist, the light was sent floating off towards the opposite end of the cellar, illuminating the path as it went.

Marveling at her control over the magic, Haladane watched as the floating light began to reveal their surroundings. The room was small, unsurprising for a cellar, and, again unsurprisingly, the walls were lined with shelves supporting a myriad of edible items.

"Somewhere around here there should be a-" Ariadne began, but her words trailed off as she fell into a bout of coughing, her light dimming as she began to lose concentration.

"Are you alright-?" Haladane began, stepping towards her, before his throat, too fell victim to a choking sensation, leaving him to hack up a large chunk of phlegm on the cellar floor.

Ariadne nodded and, taking care to breathe shallowly through her nose, resumed her focus on her spell. The light brightened significantly, and Haladane's eyebrows shot up in alarm as he realized that smoke from the burning house above had made its way down into the cellar. If they tarried down here much longer, suffocation loomed as a very real possibility.

Getting down on his hands and knees to avoid the worst of the gathering smoke, he crawled over to Ariadne, who had wisely adopted a similar stance. "We've got to get out of here," he breathed, suddenly aware of exactly how much of their limited air he was using.

Ariadne nodded curtly, crawling determinedly towards the other side of the cellar, her summoned light floating brightly alongside. "Somewhere around here, should be a tunnel, leads out," she said, speaking in quick fragments.

Haladane cast his gaze around, desperately willing himself to ignore the tickling of the smoke as it steadily filled the small room. To his great relief, he quickly spotted an old tapestry hanging at an odd angle. Brushing it back revealed a small tunnel opening, just large enough for one person to fit through at a time.

"Found it," he informed, gesturing to her. "You go first."

Ariadne shook her head resolutely. "You. Hatch might be blocked."

Haladane bit his lip, uncomfortable with leaving her behind, if even for a moment, but her insistent glare and the steadily-increasing quantity of smoke in the cellar made his decision for him. Nodding his acquiescence, he hauled himself up into the cramped tunnel and immediately received a face-full of cobwebs for his effort.

Sputtering and coughing, Haladane swiped his hand across his face to clear the sticky mess before beginning to crawl forward, hearing Ariadne hoist herself up behind him. It was tough going; to call the tunnel cramped was generous, and he was forced to proceed foot by foot in an awkward inching motion, made more desperate by the smoke that still poured into the tiny space.

Finally, mercifully, the tunnel widened somewhat, and Haladane spied a small hatch above him in the residual light from Ariadne's spell. Reaching out, he grasped the handle, turned, and pushed.

And Ariadne's words from earlier proved to be prophetic. Something heavy was blocking the hatch from the other side, for try as he might, Haladane could not budge the hatch.

"Hal, what's wrong?" Ariadne asked, her voice thin and watery from the smoke, and Haladane cursed himself for his weakness as he put every ounce of strength he had into pushing on the hatch. It was all for naught, however, as his awkward position made it impossible for him to get any solid leverage on whatever was pinning the hatch down.

"It's blocked," he said from between gritted teeth. "Can't get it open."

Ariadne didn't reply, and her silence filled Haladane with a consuming rage. She had trusted him. He would not let them die now. Not down here, not like this.

"Hey!" he yelled as loud as he could, banging on the inside of the hatch. "Help us! In here!"

It was a vain hope, he knew; the odds that someone would be outside to hear were astronomically low, and even lower that if someone did hear that they would be willing to stop and help total strangers while the town burned.

But that didn't stop him. He kept yelling, his voice growing more desperate as more smoke filtered into the tiny tunnel. "Please! Someone! Anyone! Help!" he banged against the hatch with his fists as hard as he could, gouging his knuckles against the old wood.

And then, impossibly, he heard a voice from the other side of the hatch.

"Haladane? Is that you?"

The young half-elf went limp with relief. Jordas was alive, and he had found them.

"It is!" he yelled back, "and Ariadne's with me! Help us, the hatch is blocked!" His voice caught horribly on the last word as he devolved into another fit of coughing, his eyes watering in the smoke that seemed to be getting thicker by the second. "Please," he rasped, pushing as hard as he could against the hatch.

Then, slowly but surely, he felt the weight pressing down on it being removed, and he redoubled his efforts, his arms burning from the strain as he pushed against the wood with all his might. His lungs were burning, as any attempt to breathe now brought in more smoke than air.

Abruptly, he realized that Ariadne had been silent throughout the whole exchange, and his heart was seized by an icy grip as he feared the worst. With a roar of rage, he flung his body against the obstructing hatch, spots forming in front of his vision as he expended the last of his body's oxygen in one final desperate push.

Then, just as his vision was beginning to go dark, the weight holding down the hatch vanished, and he flung it open with such force that it tore off its hinges. Sweet, life-bringing air flooded into the cramped tunnel, and Haladane went limp for a moment as he saw the sky above.

And then a familiar face was leaning over the hole, fear etched on his expression.

"Jordas," Haladane coughed, holding out his hand, and the Imperial immediately reached down, hauling Haladane up out of the tunnel and onto solid ground once more.

"Thanks," Haladane gasped, bent double, hands resting upon his knees as he drew in air by the lungful.

"Where's Ariadne?" Jordas asked, and Haladane froze, pointing back at the tunnel. The two rushed over, hearts in their mouths, to find the Breton already in the process of pulling herself out, pale hands grasping for support.

Immediately, the two men reached for her hands, hauling her out of the tunnel.

"Are you alright?" Haladane and Jordas asked in unison, and Ariadne nodded slowly. "Yes," she managed between coughs, and Haladane gave a sigh of relief.

Jordas, however, did not share in the sensation. His eyes darted around their small group, a growing horror etched on his normally-unreadable features as he identified the missing person. "Where is she?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice from trembling.

The look on Ariadne's face told him all that he needed to know.

"No," he breathed, reeling back as if struck and bringing a hand up to his brow. Shock, disbelief, and anguish flashed across his face in rapid succession, but before Haladane could try and comfort him, he drew in a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a moment as he reconciled himself to the brutal truth.

"There's no time. We have to go," he said a moment later, setting his jaw, his voice once again resuming the authoritative distance Haladane remembered from his youth.

With impeccable timing, another deafening roar sounded as the dragon swooped by overhead, belching out a steady stream of flame as it systematically immolated the town. Instinctively, the three shrank back against the nearest non-burning wall, waiting until the beast had passed.

Jordas turned back to face Haladane. "Did you ride here?" he shouted over the din.

Haladane nodded. "I left Tarathal at the stables." He felt another stab of fear as he wondered if his trusted steed was still alive. The stables were at the southern end of town, by the main gate, which had so far escaped the worst of the dragon's wrath, but it was impossible to tell where the beast would decide to strike next, and the still-falling meteors were hardly discriminatory in their targets.

Still, there was no way that even Tarathal could carry three people for any length of time. He opened his voice to raise this point when a meteor landed a scant forty meters away. The earth rocked in response to the blow, and the three immediately dropped to the ground to avoid the flying debris.

There was no time to argue, Haladane realized. They had to move _now_, and _if_ they made it to the stables, and _if _Tarathal was still there, then perhaps they could address other problems.

Jordas had come to the same conclusion, as he scrambled to his feet, pulling the two teenagers up alongside him. "Let's go!" he yelled, and Haladane wasted no time in complying.

The trio sprinted across the open street to the next building, dodging left and right to avoid both the pummeling meteors and the falling chunks of debris that were scattered by the dragon's powerful limbs. There they waited for a moment in the shelter of a burnt-out awning until the dragon passed by overhead, and again sprinted for all they were worth towards the next available cover.

It was not easy. Each sprint began with a battle of wills, Haladane forcing himself to overcome the fear that threatened to cripple him once again, before venturing out into the peril-filled streets, where chaos reigned supreme.

The dragon dove and rolled overhead, obviously enjoying itself immensely as it watched the destruction unfold below. Occasionally it would land on rooftops and let out another stream of dragonfire to incinerate a hapless survivor, or swoop down to pluck an unfortunate soldier from the ground and carry it up into the sky, rending him with tooth and claw, before releasing the mangled body parts to plummet to the burning streets below in a macabre rain. The meteors continued their deadly downpour, smashing nearly every standing structure to shambles as their constant explosions. Ears ringing from the unending waves of sound, Haladane came to perceive everything around him in an almost dream-like state, the rational part of his mind shutting down in response to the overload of stimuli. He staggered alongside Jordas and Ariadne, eyes taking in with silent horror the blackened bodies which littered the cratered streets, some still clinging hopelessly to life, their hands reaching out in desperate pleas, their moans sounding for all the world like the chorus of the damned. Helgen was no longer a town; it was a plane of Oblivion come to terrible life.

It seemed like a small eternity later when the southern gate finally came into view, the portal somehow remaining miraculously unscathed. The three refugees halted at the edge of the courtyard, tucking against the edge of a stone tower.

_We're not the first ones to make it this far, _Haladane realized, noting the bodies strewn across the empty courtyard. Still, from the sound of it, the dragon was currently occupied with the remaining Legion resistance at the old keep on the opposite end of town. If they could make it through the gate before the dragon made another circuit, then they might have a chance to escape.

A glance at Jordas confirmed that the Imperial was thinking the same thing. "I'll open the gates-" Haladane offered, but Jordas cut him off.

"No," he said with an authoritative jerk of his head, his tone making clear that he would brook no argument. "I will. You and Ariadne wait by the gate until I open it, and then run for it. I'll meet you outside by the stables." He stood, then hesitated. "If I don't make it, _do not _come back for me."

And with those words, Jordas Miras ran.

Haladane watched in awe as the old Imperial moved with the speed of a much younger man, sprinting across the open courtyard towards the stairs that would lead up to the ramparts over the gate, where the winch was located. A quick glance to his side showed Ariadne watching with equal amazement.

Remembering Jordas' instructions, Haladane pulled the Breton girl to her feet. "Come on," he said, "we've got to reach the gate."

Nodding wordlessly, Ariadne hiked up her dress, and, hands joined, the two began to sprint across the open courtyard.

For one brief, fleeting second, Haladane honestly thought that they were going to make it. He could see Jordas' form climbing the stairs, making for the winch, and the gate seemed to be _so close_. The Divines wouldn't have let them survive for so long only to die in the last desperate bid for escape.

But apparently the Divines had a crueler sense of humor than Haladane had accounted for, as when they made it halfway across the courtyard, the dragon dropped out of the sky in front of them.

Haladane and Ariadne skidded to a stop, reeling backwards as the massive beast dug its claws into the flagstones and bellowed a challenge at them. This close, he could see into the dragon's mouth, past the gleaming ivory fangs to the flame that flickered in the back of the creature's throat, waiting to consume them.

Nearly retching as the beast's foul breath rolled over them, Haladane registered Ariadne's terrified scream, and instinctively pushed her behind him, in the vain hope that somehow the dragonfire would be sated by him alone.

At this movement, the dragon cocked its head to the side, as if curious, and those burning vermillion eyes swept over him, studying this exhausted, puny vermin that dared to stand before it.

Haladane's entire body quaked with terror, the dragonfear returning tenfold now as he stared Death in its face. The dragon's gaze penetrated him like glass, looking inwards to his very soul. His mind was screaming at him to _run_, and for a second he thought that his legs would obey the command of their own accord, anything to carry him away from this monster which confronted him.

But then he felt Ariadne's arms clinch tightly around his waist, and his heart rose up against his mind, a calm acceptance taking the place of mortal fear.

He could not escape. He could not save them.

But he could at least die at her side.

And so, Haladane Tavisson closed his eyes and prepared to die.

But then, just as he heard the intake of breath that heralded his doom, just as he was preparing himself for the scorching agony that awaited him, a new sound filtered through his ears.

Hoofbeats.

Haladane cracked open his eyes just in time to witness their salvation.

It came in the form of an Imperial legionnaire, armor glinting in the shifting light of the burning town, riding towards them atop a snow-white charger, a bright sword gleaming in his grasp.

Haladane was speechless as the apparently-fearless legionnaire galloped past. His sword-arm flashed out, the bright metal slicing a shallow cut along the great dragon's lower jaw.

Just as shocked as Haladane, the dragon reared backwards, roaring in fury and belching a tongue of fire into the sky. The wound was less than minor, barely a scratch for such a massive beast, but as the legionnaire wheeled his horse around, holding aloft once again his sword, now stained a dark red, Haladane knew that the dragon could not ignore such a challenge.

This was their chance.

He shot a glance at the legionnaire, and, peering past the man's helmet, was shocked to realize that it was the same sergeant that had granted him entry to the town this morning. The soldier pulled his mount up short, and for a split-second, their gazes locked, and the same recognition flickered in the soldier's eyes.

The dragon roared again, and as his charger reared back, the legionnaire gave Haladane one last glance and imparted a final command.

"Fly, you fools!"

And then he was gone, galloping off to the side as a stream of flame blackened the stones where his horse had been standing a moment before. The dragon lunged after him, the two teenagers forgotten as it pursued more interesting prey.

Resolving not to waste the opportunity so dearly bought for them, Haladane grabbed Ariadne's hand. "Come on!" he yelled, and without waiting for a response, resumed their desperate sprint across the courtyard towards the gate.

The gate which was still closed, still sealing them into this living hell that was once called Helgen. His eyes flashed up to the parapets, but he could make out no sight of Jordas.

Hopefully, that meant that the Imperial was inside the small room which housed the gate winch. Haladane desperately wished that to be true, as it would also mean that the poor man wouldn't have had to witness their brush with death moments before.

The two teenagers grew closer and closer to the gate, meteors smashing to the earth all around them, and yet still no motion or sound disturbed the great wooden portal. From the diminishing volume of the dragon's roars, Haladane assumed that their rescuer was leading the beast away, but even his courage could only preserve him for so long against the great beast. If the dragon decided to make another round after incinerating the hapless legionnaire, Haladane did not want it to find them stuck with their backs to the wall once again.

Somehow, that entire thought process, combined with the overwhelming sensory input from the chaos around him, channeled itself into a single thought, one desperate supplication, offered up to whatever fickle fates now observed their plight:

_Please._

_ Don't let us die here. Not now. Not like this._

Perhaps the Divines had finally had enough of dashing his hopes, or maybe Jordas had simply taken a while to figure out the winch system, but whatever the reason, Haladane gasped in relief as he heard the familiar series of clicks and clanks begin, the gates swinging ponderously open. He put on one last burst of speed, and Ariadne did the same, half-sprinting, half-staggering through the archway and out onto the road.

Immediately, Haladane's eyes shot to their left, where the stables extended outwards from the wall. To his great relief, they appeared to have escaped the worst of the meteor storm, and remained miraculously intact. The doors were flung open, and Haladane ran over, a quick look inside showing all of the stalls vacant, their former occupants having fled.

All except one.

With a sound that could only be described as one of pure joy, the chestnut stallion at the end of the stables rushed forwards, shattering the gate that sealed his stall and galloping up to his owner. Haladane practically wept with joy as he saw Tarathal unharmed, and he couldn't help throwing his arms around the horse's neck despite the situation before leading him outside.

"Found him!" he cried triumphantly, but Ariadne's gaze remained fixed, and Haladane followed it to see Jordas standing high upon the parapets above the gate, waving emphatically at them. Haladane waved back, letting the Imperial know that they were fine, and Jordas nodded, turning around to find the stairs.

And instead finding himself face-to-face with the dragon as it rose up from behind the walls, its great wings beating in a steady rhythm to keep itself suspended as it stared down at Jordas, the Imperial's figure silhouetted atop the wall against the black monstrosity before him.

Haladane's breath caught as time seemed to slow, watching in a sort of fascinated horror as Jordas turned back away from the dragon, sprinting towards the edge of the ramparts. Realizing what the Imperial was about to do, Haladane raced forward, hoping that somehow he could get there in time.

But then a blast of dragonfire raked the top of the ramparts, and Jordas Miras flung himself into space as the flame licked at his heels.

Ariadne screamed, and for a moment Jordas' form seemed to hang in the air, arms flailing in a futile war with gravity.

It was twenty long feet to the unyielding ground below.

Jordas hit the ground with a motion and sound horribly reminiscent of a sack of potatoes, his legs crumpling sickeningly underneath him and sending his body sprawling twistedly across the road.

In a flash, Ariadne at his side, her screams tearing at Haladane's soul as he rushed over. Ariadne was in a state, weeping and wringing her hands as she tried to utter a healing spell despite knowing that only an Arch-Mage could heal injuries as severe as these.

Haladane was about to try and drag her away from the body before the dragon returned when Jordas coughed.

Haladane froze, and shock flickered across Ariadne's face as she spread her hands across the fallen Imperial's chest. "He's alive," she whispered in awe. "Jordas! Can you hear me?"

On any other day Haladane would have pinched himself to see if he was dreaming, but today he was inclined to suspend disbelief. Placing his fingers on the man's wrist, he was stupefied to find a pulse. Weak and erratic, but a pulse nonetheless.

Still, it was highly unlikely that the Imperial had much longer to live. His legs were almost completely shattered, and a fall of that magnitude had likely severely injured his pelvis and back. If they tried to move him, they would probably end up worsening his condition.

Jordas groaned, the sound filled with so much pain that Haladane gritted his teeth just hearing it. "Go," the Imperial wheezed, his eyes fluttering. "Leave…me…run…" His head lolled limply to the side,

"No, we can't! We won't!" Ariadne insisted. "Haladane, get the horse!"

"There's no room," Haladane said quietly, and Ariadne ceased her ministrations to look up at him.

"There's no room," Haladane repeated, gesturing at Tarathal, who resolutely stood guard nearby. "One of us would have to follow on foot."

"I will," Ariadne declared immediately. "You get him to safety, and I'll-"

"No," Haladane growled. "I am _not _leaving you here, not with that _thing _flying around." A quick glance overhead showed that the skies were clear, and from the screams now arising from the courtyard Haladane guessed that the dragon had once again turned its attention to more live prey, but he was not about to let Ariadne stay behind.

"Well I'm not going to leave him to die alone," Ariadne responded, her eyes flashing with emerald fire.

"We'll kill him if we move him," Haladane pointed out, hating the fact that he had to be so callous.

"He'll die if we don't!" Ariadne hissed back, before lifting her chin. "If you won't take him, then I will."

Haladane opened his mouth to reply, but for the second time that day the sound of hoofbeats reached his ears.

Turning around, he saw the massive white charger that had carried their savior into battle galloping desperately out of the courtyard, its ivory flanks smeared with soot and blood.

Whose blood was apparent. Not a trace remained of the valiant legionnaire, save for a single bloody foot, caught in the stirrup and bouncing macabrely against the horse's side as it ran.

"And there's our second horse," Ariadne said, unable to see the hideous display from where she remained, crouched over Jordas' weakly-breathing body.

Haladane's head snapped back to look at her, about to point out the horse's state, but her pleading eyes were fixed on him, her features suffused with a combination of hope and desperation that crushed any protestations the half-elf was preparing to summon. He could not deny her this.

"Very well," he said, turning to step out in front of the horse as it passed through the gate.

The charger showed no sign of slowing. Eyes wide, foaming at the mouth, its flanks heaving with a combination of exhaustion and fear, it came on, more than willing to trample the half-elf if he tried to stop it.

As the charger came on, Haladane closed his eyes, searching again for that dormant nub within his consciousness. He found it and squeezed his eyes tight, focusing all of his effort and will upon it, and moments later the familiar power flooded forth. He felt the mind of the horse, panicked and confused, and reached out towards it with his own, his mouth moving of its own accord even as he reached out to place a hand on the animal's neck. "Noto friya," he said. "Eka kaleyia il bain."

Haladane's consciousness abruptly returned to the confines of his own mind, the words and power fading away like the last vestiges of a fleeting sunset. Staggering at the sudden weariness that overcame him, Haladane shook his head to find the charger standing calmly before him, pawing at the ground.

The half-elf wasted no time, stepping around the horse and shaking the stirrups. The severed foot fell to the ground, and Haladane kicked it off the side of the road, offering a silent apology to the brave legionnaire's soul.

Giving the charger's mane a quick stroke to ensure it of his intent, he rushed back over to Ariadne, who was running her hands over Jordas' body, her palms occasionally glowing with a soft light as she found some minor injury that was within her abilities to mend.

"He's still breathing," Ariadne informed him as he knelt on the opposite side of the man's form, "but we need to hurry. I cast a spell to reduce the pain, but it's brought him very close to unconsciousness."

"How are we going to move him?" Haladane asked. "I can't lift him on my own."

"I know a spell," Ariadne replied. "I've never tried it before, but I think it might work." She inclined her head. "Still, I'll need your help."

"Then there's no time to waste," Haladane stated, as another bloodcurdling roar arose from inside the town. He slid his arms underneath the frighteningly-limp body, and Ariadne rolled up her dress sleeves.

"On three," he grunted. "One, two, three."

Ariadne's brows furrowed in concentration, her lips mouthing a rapid stream of words Haladane had no way of understanding as a faint white aura surrounded Jordas' body, levitating it a few inches off the ground.

The half-elf took advantage of that, summoning all of his strength as he struggled to lift the dead weight. His muscles burned with fatigue, trembling in exhaustion, and he snarled in a combination of anger and frustration. With great effort he managed to get up on one knee, then another, and with the help of Ariadne's spell, he finally rose up to his feet with a bellow of pain.

Jordas' eyes flickered open at the sudden sensation of being lifted. "No…what…what'reyoudoin'…" he said, his words slurring together. "Just leave me…"

"Not likely, you old fool," Haladane gritted out, staggering over towards the charger. Ariadne walked alongside, continuing to mutter her incantation as they half-carried, half-levitated the crippled Imperial over to the horse.

With one last tremendous effort, Haladane heaved Jordas up into the saddle, wincing and muttering in apology as the Imperial's shattered legs were forced into motion. Jordas gasped, and Haladane hoped that Ariadne's pain-killing spell was still in effect, otherwise this would be an agonizing ride for the crippled Imperial.

"I'll ride with him," Haladane said, still panting with exertion as he swung himself up onto the charger behind Jordas. "You take Tarathal. We'll head up the road until we find a safe place to stop."

Ariadne nodded, her eyes brimming with thanks as she turned to mount the chestnut stallion. Haladane shifted Jordas in front of him so that the Imperial's legs wouldn't be jostled as severely by the moving horse, and then picked up the charger's reins, straining to see over Jordas' shoulder.

Ariadne tapped Tarathal's flanks, and the stallion took off at a canter, evidently recognizing any companion of Haladane's as an acceptable rider.

Haladane shook the charger's reins, and the well-trained Imperial horse responded, matching Tarathal's pace as the two horses left the burning town behind them, following the stone path up the mountainside.

The half-elf's elation at having escaped Helgen was tempered, however, by the state of the passenger in front of him. Jordas' body was eerily limp, his shoulders rolling up and down in response every time the horse took a stride. Fortunately, Ariadne's spell still seemed to be in effect, as the Imperial was not screaming in agony with every step, but Haladane couldn't help but feel that every moment spent on the back of the cantering horse was only worsening Jordas' already-tenuous condition.

With that in mind, when Jordas' head lolled backwards like a rag doll after only a few minutes of riding, Haladane knew their time was running short.

"Ariadne!" he called up to the Breton. "We have to stop now! Turn off the road!"

Ariadne nodded, pulling Tarathal's reins to the right. Unerringly, the stallion responded, trotting off the road into the thick pine woods. Haladane pulled back on the reins, slowing the charger down and guiding it off the road.

A small clearing loomed ahead, at the edge of a cliff which overlooked the valley below. Deciding that spot would have to do, Haladane pulled the charger up to a halt and slid off its side, putting out his hands to hold Jordas up as the Imperial threatened to topple to the ground below.

"A little help," he ground out to Ariadne, who had practically leaped off Tarathal to come to his side. She nodded breathlessly and raised her hands again, repeating the incantation.

It was a little easier to get Jordas off the horse now that gravity was on their side, but Haladane still had to maneuver the man carefully to avoid unduly torturing his broken body. Spotting a sturdy conifer nearby, Haladane gently lowered the Imperial to the ground, propping his back up against the tree.

Jordas' eyes flickered open at the feel of the bark, his eyes darting around as he struggled to keep them open. "Where…Ariadne…" he said, his breath rattling in his chest and emphasizing how little time he had left.

"I'm here, Jordas," Ariadne assured him, grasping his hand as she knelt beside him, but Jordas shook his head violently.

"Please…" he gasped. "Just this once…call me father…"

Ariadne's breath caught at the request, tears springing like morning dew to her eyes, and Haladane's heart tore as he watched the exchange. "Yes, father, of course," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. "I'm sorry-"

"No!" Jordas said emphatically, his fingers grasping her hand. "I'm sorry…for not being there…for ignoring you…all these years…I'm not worthy…" The words were coming slower, softer, and it didn't take a healer to see that the Imperial had very little time left. His eyes were desperate, pleading her to accept this last confession of his greatest guilt.

Ariadne sobbed at his words. "No, no," she cried, stroking his head with a trembling hand. "You don't need to be sorry, father. You saved us. Both of us," she said, with a glance to Haladane. "No matter what, you will always be my father."

Jordas' eyes brimmed with tears, looking at his daughter with a love that Haladane had never seen before. "Thank you," he whispered. "Now…where…where is Haladane…"

"He's here, father," Ariadne said, and Haladane knelt down beside her.

"I'm here, Jordas," Haladane repeated, and suddenly Jordas' hand was grasping his own, the grip surprisingly strong for a dying man with a broken body. "You…protect her…" he pleaded, his eyes boring into Haladane's mind. "In my stead…please…"

Haladane's mind reeled at the immensity of the request, and the fact that Jordas would request it of him, but he could not refuse.

"I will," he promised, and a tear ran down Jordas' cheek.

"Thank you…" the Imperial said, giving Haladane's hand a squeeze. "Thank you…my son."

Haladane's felt a moisture gather in his eyes, but he kept his composure. He had to show that he was strong.

"You're welcome, father," he said, and Jordas smiled.

Jordas' gaze returned to Ariadne, his breath slowly fading. "Don't let him go," he rasped, his voice urgent. "Don't you ever let him go."

Ariadne merely nodded tearfully, too overcome for words.

Jordas' eyelids flickered, "Goodbye…" he whispered, and as his gaze turned to the sky, he breathed almost inaudibly, "I'm coming, Claricia."

His chest rattled one last time, and a contended expression came across his face, his eyes sliding slowly shut as a final hushed breath escaped his lips, and then all was still.

So passed Jordas Miras, last heir of the Miras line, in a quiet forest clearing, as Helgen burned below.

Haladane dipped his head in silent reverence, putting his arm over Ariadne's shoulder as she quietly sobbed. There was nothing he could say or do right now that would give her more comfort than simply being there, at her side.

"He loved me," Ariadne whispered after a long silence.

A dull ache throbbed in Haladane's chest as the sight of her tearful face, but he stayed strong, drawing her close to him. "Aye," he whispered as she cried into his shoulder. "He did."

A soft roll of thunder sounded somewhere far above, and a fine, mist-like rain began to fall. Haladane drew up his cloak and threw it over their heads, watching as in the distance a silent wraith flapped its way east, vanishing once more into the black mountains.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So a brief note; since there really isn't much information given in canon, I took some liberty in fleshing out the nature of magic in this chapter, with a lot of ideas borrowed from the Inheritance Cycle, which I think has the best system for dealing with fantasy-universe magic that I have yet to come across. So yeah. I don't own Elder Scrolls or IC.**

**Thanks again for all the support and reviews, guys. It really means a lot. Onward!**

Chapter Four

A series of soft wooden knocks echoed through the small clearing, disturbing the silent stillness of the early dawn as Haladane tapped a wooden stake into the ground with a rock. When it reached an appropriate depth, he tested the stability of the stake, nudging it back and forth. Satisfied with the resistance he met, the half-elf turned to his side, picking up the flat pinewood board beside him. Stripped from a road sign on the nearby trail in the early hours of the morning, Haladane had used his recovered hunting knife to carve a brief message into it:

_Here lies Jordas Miras_

_Loyal citizen_

_Loving father_

It was a short but fitting epitaph. Haladane retrieved a bundle of tough twine from Tarathal's saddlebags and tied the board to the stake, lacing the twine around the board several times in a series of intricate knots to insure its strength.

As he pulled the final knot tight, Haladane straightened and stepped back to survey his work.

The stake marker was located at the head of a mound of freshly-disturbed earth that capped the shallow grave which Haladane had worked through all hours of the night to gouge out of the earth, using a shield he had found among the Imperial charger's saddlebags in place of a shovel. The grave was located in the shade of the same conifer where Jordas had breathed his last, overlooking the valley below.

There was a rustling behind him, and Haladane turned to see Ariadne making her way towards him. It was the first time she had moved in hours; she had spent the entire night sitting against a tree, silently watching Haladane bury her foster father with a blank expression that pained the half-elf more than any amount of wailing and tears could have. Even now, she moved with a slow, weary walk, her shoulders slightly hunched as if carrying a tremendous weight upon her frail shoulders. Her formerly-burnished hair now seemed dull and lifeless, hanging in knotted clumps that shifted in front of her pale, drawn features like a widow's veil.

Haladane's heart ached to see her this way, but he supposed it was only natural; she had just lost both of her foster parents in the space of a few hours. She was entitled to her grief.

She stopped alongside him, her eyes traveling over the grave and marker.

"It's done," she finally said, her voice dry and weak after hours of silence.

Haladane swallowed, considering carefully his next words. "Aye," he agreed, stepping close to her to put an arm around her shoulder. "He's at peace now. With her."

"With her," Ariadne repeated softly, her chin trembling. She turned her gaze to him, eyes shining even as she admirably fought to keep the tears from streaking her face.

"Thank you," she whispered.

In response, Haladane enfolded her in a hug, pulling her close, hoping to communicate through the simple gesture what words alone were inadequate for.

Long minutes passed as the two stood, locked in embrace against the cold dawn before they finally broke apart, Haladane reluctantly letting his arms slip from her sides.

"We should go, Haladane," Ariadne said, her voice determined even as she wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. "Your family still needs you."

Haladane nodded, amazed that at a time like this, Ariadne could still consider him. He turned to prepare the horses, but as he did so, his hand brushed against his shirt pocket, and what lay within.

The Norman Iris he had salvaged from the bouquet he had brought was still securely tucked within, having miraculously survived the flight from Helgen. Scarcely believing his luck, Haladane withdrew the flower, marveling at how undamaged it remained.

Ariadne drew in a breath as she saw it, and with a single look at her, Haladane knew what had to be done. Turning, he approached Jordas' grave with slow, reverent steps, kneeling onto the dewy grass to lay the flower at the base of the marker.

He was standing up again when there was a whisper from behind him, and a soft blue glow surrounded the Iris. Haladane watched in amazement as roots began to sprout from the severed stem of the flower, extending down into the fresh soil and anchoring themselves to the gravesite.

Turning, he saw Ariadne folding her arms back into her sleeves, light fading from her palms even as a small smile crossed her face for the first time since the attack.

"He'll always have me with him, now," she said quietly, and this time, it took all of Haladane's willpower not to let a tear spring to his eye. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder, and after one last look at the grave, they turned back to the horses.

After helping Ariadne up onto the ivory charger, Haladane mounted Tarathal, and with one last look at Jordas' grave, swung the chestnut stallion around, heading out of the clearing and back towards the road.

The dawn broke cold and miserable, a stark contrast with the beauty of the previous morning. The sky was obscured by a ponderous bank of sleet-gray clouds hanging heavy above the mountaintops, drizzling a frigid, soaking rain down onto whatever poor souls were unfortunate enough to be out in the open. Having given his cloak to Ariadne, Haladane resigned to sit in quiet misery, trying desperately to keep his teeth from chattering as he guided Tarathal down the steep mountain road. Ariadne followed closely alongside, the huge Imperial warhorse responding surprisingly well to her gentle direction.

Haladane was careful to avoid passing by Helgen again, taking a detour that would lead through the woods east of the town before rejoining the main road which led past Lake Ilinalta. Still, even though the two never set eyes upon the walls of Helgen, the pillars of smoke that still lingered in the air revealed its location.

He wondered if there was anyone left alive within.

When they finally emerged from the forest trail out onto the main road, those thoughts were answered.

The road was a mess, strewn with the discarded possessions and overturned carts that indicated a mass flight from the burned town by those who were fortunate enough to survive. It must have taken place through all hours of the night, for the road was now deserted, the rain pooling on the quiet stones.

Haladane was relieved to see that at least some of the town's inhabitants had escaped the destruction. His mind immediately went to Harald and Katla, but he quickly quashed that line of thought; it was, he surmised, better not to hope.

Hope, it seemed, was suddenly a rare commodity.

"There's no one," Ariadne said quietly, pulling her mount up alongside him as she surveyed the abandoned highway.

"Let's hope it stays that way," Haladane grunted as he urged Tarathal forward once again, not the least bit trusting of any survivors they might find along the road. Disasters in Skyrim seemed to draw looters and bandits like flies to carrion, and it was probably safe to assume that they would not hesitate to accost a pair of unescorted teenagers.

The two continued onward, navigating their way through the detritus which littered the roadway and keeping wary gazes on the heavens. After seeing a dragon appear out of the clear blue sky only a half-day prior, Haladane's nerves were still on edge, to put it lightly. Every suddenly-shifting wisp of cloud, every distant howl of wind suddenly seemed to transform into beating black wings or malevolent roars. The dragon could reappear at any time.

And who was to say that it was the only one? Were there others, now, a whole race of the winged monsters come to terrorize the land?

It was an unsettling thought, to say the least. Haladane tried to keep his focus on the road, and not to drive himself insane out of fear, but being out in the open after the previous day's events was not a pleasant feeling. He would often catch himself hunching his shoulders and slumping forward in the saddle, as if he could minimize his profile despite being seated on a horse.

For her part, Ariadne was doing an excellent job of disguising any anxiety she might have. She had pulled up the hood on Haladane's cloak, wrapping the garment around her to ward off the freezing rain. The Breton girl hadn't said so much as a single word since they rejoined the road, her usually-ebullient smile nowhere to be seen.

Haladane could only hope it would soon return.

The half-elf was trying to think of something, anything he could say to comfort the girl when a flash of movement caught his eye. He held up his hand and brought Tarathal to a halt, squinting his eyes into the distance as Ariadne reigned in her charger beside him.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

Haladane didn't respond for a moment, narrowing his eyes as he focused his vision on the forms which broke the horizon. As if he were sighting down an arrow, he summoned all his concentration before he finally recognized the swiftly-moving silhouettes.

"Riders," he said. "At least a dozen. Approaching fast."

"Any standards?" she pressed, and Haladane sharpened his gaze as the riders drew closer.

"None that I can tell…" he began, but then a new motion caught his eye. "Wait," he said, his attention now drawn to a fluttering banner which hung above the galloping pack. That in itself was encouraging, as it was unlikely that any bandit clan would be toting a standard.

Finally, the riders came close enough that Haladane could make out the insignia, and he was relieved to note the red background and black dragon that represented the Imperial Legion.

"They're legionnaires," he stated, wondering briefly at the irony of the draconic symbol.

"Do we trust them?" Ariadne asked immediately, and Haladane paused. Ordinarily, he would have no issue with passing a company of legionnaires on the road, but his conception of ordinary had been turned on its head in the past few hours. That sergeant had saved their life back in Helgen, but for all he knew, these soldiers were under orders to interrogate any survivors. '

"It's a moot point," he answered finally. "They've already seen us. If we flee they'll think we're looters."

Ariadne nodded. "So we stay."

"Aye," Haladane said. "But don't give them any reason to suspect us."

Ariadne didn't reply, but she did pull back her hood, inclining her head against the soaking rain.

Haldane kept a tight grip on Tarathal's reins as the Imperial troops approached, water droplets flying from the hooves of their mounts; lean, sleek horses. It quickly became apparent that these were not ordinary legionnaires, however. Clad in light leather riding armor, most of them carried bows or javelins, with short swords at their sides. The spread-eagled hawk that was the symbol of the Legion Exploratores, the corps of scouts which served as the Legion's eyes and ears, was emblazoned across their chestpieces.

And just as Haladane suspected, they did not simply continue on by.

"Exploratores, halt!" cried out what Haladane assumed was the company's leader, holding his spear up over his head. The riders responded immediately, falling smoothly out of their two-columned riding formation and fanning out to surround the two teenagers. Tarathal bristled momentarily at the action, but Haladane gave his ears a quick stroke and the stallion subsided.

The circle broke momentarily to allow the Imperial who had spoken earlier to walk his mount, a fierce-looking black palfrey, through to the center. A tall, thin man, his face was grim and his jaw set. He held his spear at his side in an easy, comfortable grasp, not quite pointed at the two teenagers but neither completely away.

"I am Captain Praeus of the Imperial Legion," he stated. "What is your business on this road, citizens?" he asked, his tone making it clear that he would brook no lies.

"We flee, sir," Haladane answered. "From Helgen."

"From Helgen?" Praeus asked, his voice low. "We ride there ourselves. What news do you carry?"

"It is ill, sir," Haladane warned, but the captain merely gave an impatient gesture, and so the half-elf continued, "Helgen is destroyed."

That got a response, a hushed murmur running around the circle of scouts, but Praeus silenced them instantly with a raised hand. "Destroyed?" he repeated. "We saw the smoke, but…how?"

Haladane opened his mouth to reply, but to his shock, Ariadne beat him to it.

"By dragonfire, captain," she stated simply, and this time the murmurs were anything but hushed.

It was as if she had reached out and slapped the captain. Praeus swayed momentarily in the saddle. "So it's true," he whispered, shaking his head. "A courier galloped into Falkreath shortly after midnight with the same news, his horse nearly dead from exhaustion and himself none the better. Legate Skulnar dispatched us immediately to assess whether the man's tales were true."

"They are, sir," Haladane assured him. "We barely survived ourselves."

Praeus ran his eyes over the two, taking in their bedraggled state. "I see." There was a pause as he surveyed the road before returning his attention to them. "You didn't happen to lay eyes upon any escaping Stormcloaks, now did you?"

Haladane frowned, abruptly remembering that Jarl Ulfric had been slated for execution when the dragon had attacked. While that had certainly disrupted the process, there was no guarantee that the rebel leader had survived the aftermath.

"No, sir," he stated truthfully. "We took shelter in the mountains for the night. You're the first ones we've seen on this road all day."

Praeus' mouth twitched briefly in frustration at that, but he smoothed his features over immediately. "Very well. Thank you for your time, citizens, and be assured that the Legion has this situation completely under control." He pulled back on the reins, wheeling his palfrey around. "Exploratores, fall out!"

As quickly as they had arrived, the Imperials departed, resuming their orderly columns and galloping on towards the distant pillar of smoke to the south.

"Under control," Haladane snorted derisively when they had gone. "I wasn't aware that they had put a leash on that dragon."

"They haven't," Ariadne said, pulling the hood of his cloak up again, "But perhaps the Thalmor have."

Haladane jerked back, Tarathal snorting in surprise as the half-elf abruptly pulled back on the reins. "What do you mean by that?" he queried.

Ariadne turned her head, eyes looking out from under the cowl of Haladane's hood. "Think about it for a moment, Hal," she said. "The Empire has just captured Jarl Ulfric. His death, and with it, the death of the rebellion he leads, is imminent. Suddenly, a dragon appears, the first one in ages. In the chaos, Ulfric gets a chance to escape, as our friends just hinted at a moment ago. The Stormcloaks live to fight another day, and the civil war continues. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?"

Haladane blinked, surprised at the sudden flow of words from the formerly-silent girl. Still, her analysis made sense. While the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion were technically at peace, most everyone realized that the uneasy armistice of the White-Gold Concordat was merely the calm before the next storm. As long as much of the Legion's strength remained tied up fighting the entrenched Stormcloak insurgency, the Thalmor could continue to play both sides against the other.

"That would explain why those Thalmor were there yesterday," Haladane mused.

"It was the first time I'd ever seen them in Helgen," Ariadne continued, a sudden steel in her voice. "I find it highly unlikely that the two events are unrelated." She tapped the flanks of her charger, directing the horse forwards again, and Haladane hurriedly urged Tarathal to follow, wondering at the change in Ariadne's tone. Could it be that she now held the Thalmor responsible for her parents' death?

_I guess that makes two of us,_ the half-elf realized. He would have to tell her about the revelation concerning his parents, sometime when the shock of the loss of her own had worn off.

And, he realized with his first genuine smile in what seemed like years, she had finally called him 'Hal' again.

That thought alone brought a little warmth to his otherwise-soaked and freezing body, and he spurred Tarathal onwards. Home was not far away now.

Sure enough, a short while later they came to the beginning of the path which led to Haladane's farm, branching off from the main thoroughfare. Eager to see his family again, and sure that they were frantic about his absence, Haladane tapped Tarathal's sides again, and the stallion responded, stepping into a brisk trot. With Ariadne behind, the half-elf strained to get a look at the farm through the trees alongside the path, hoping that the dragon hadn't made a stop there on its flight into the mountains.

They came around the last copse of trees, and Haladane breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the farmhouse and barn still standing, decidedly flame-free.

However, his breath immediately caught again as he realized that he and Ariadne were not the only ones to find their way here.

The Tavisson farm had evidently been transformed into an impromptu refugee camp for those fleeing Helgen. Tents, lean-tos, and other makeshift shelters of all kinds were pitched in haphazard formation all over the lawns, while beleaguered refugees milled about, huddling under leaking roofs around tiny guttering fires which produced more smoke than heat.

Strangely enough, Haladane could also spot Brelda the milk cow milling around in the grassy field to the east of the barn, along with the family's two plowhorses and other livestock, and the thought entered his head that maybe the farm was being robbed.

With another tap of the half-elf's heels, Tarathal broke into a canter, turning down onto the path which led up to the farmhouse door. Some of the refugees turned to look as he approached, but most of them were too engrossed in their own troubles to bother a glance at the new arrivals.

That suited Haladane just fine. He needed to make sure his family was safe before he could worry about any of these people.

With Ariadne close behind, he pulled up beside the house, practically jumping off of Tarathal and swiftly hitching the stallion to the porch fence. He turned, helping Ariadne down from her mount. She proceeded to similarly tie the formidable animal to the porch, and Haladane once again wondered at how docile the powerful warhorse was around the slight Breton girl.

"Are they here?" she asked as they made their way around the porch and up the steps.

"They should be," Haladane responded, stepping up to the door. "They'd better be."

With that last imperative to bolster his nerve, Haladane raised his hand and rapped quickly on the door.

Almost immediately it began to swing open, Armun appearing behind it. "I already told you, sergeant," he was in the process of saying, "we're doing the best we can. Your men will have to wait just like everyone else-Haladane!"

"Uncle-" Haladane began, but he was immediately silenced by a bone-crushing hug from his foster father. "You're back!" Armun bellowed gleefully. "Your aunt and I were worried sick! Come in, come in, you must be freezing!"

Haladane and Ariadne were quickly hustled into the farmhouse, the door closing out the wind and rain behind them as Haladane shook out his clothes and Ariadne took down the hood on his cloak.

"Thank the Divines you're alright!" Armun continued. Then the man's eyes then flicked to Haladane's companion, and he blinked in surprise. "And this must be-"

"-Ariadne Miras," the Breton girl confirmed, and Armun did not miss the significance of her dropping the "daughter" honorific. "Your foster parents, they…?" he trailed off, letting the question hang, and Ariadne simply nodded.

"I'm sorry," Armun said quietly, then shook his head. "I had hoped our reunion would be on happier terms."

"So did we all, Uncle," Haladane assured him.

"Aye," Armun said, and the conversation faltered, giving the young half-elf time to glance around and note the absence of the remainder of the Tavisson family. But just as the question was beginning to form on his lips, Armun noticed the teenager's darting eyes and spoke.

"Oh, yes, of course, you want to see Thalia and Eleyna," he said, clapping his hands together. "Follow me." Briskly, he turned on his heels and led the two out the kitchen door, back into the rain.

"Where are they, Uncle?" Haladane asked, hurrying to keep up with the limping man's surprisingly-quick pace as they crossed the yard between the house and barn, weaving between the hodgepodge shelters.

"When the refugees began to arrive, many of them were seriously injured," Armun explained as he hobbled determinedly on through the rain. "We couldn't turn them away, but there wasn't enough room in the house, so we moved the livestock out to the fields and turned the barn into a makeshift infirmary. Thalia's been tending to the wounded without rest all through the night."

"And Eleyna?" Haladane pressed.

"We've kept her in the house," Armun answered simply, and Haladane sighed with relief. "Didn't want her to have to see all this."

They came to the door of the barn, and Armun turned to face the two teenagers. "Now, I have to warn you; this will not be pretty."

Haladane thought about delivering a caustic retort about the relative beauty of watching people perish by dragonfire, but bit it back when he realized that his uncle meant no insult. Ariadne likewise sent him a glance that seemed to urge calm.

When he received no response, Armun nodded. "Very well." With a push, he eased the door open, and the three stepped through.

What greeted them was a sight that should have shocked the two teenagers, but given their experiences the day before, it was merely saddening as opposed to unsettling. While the attack on Helgen had forced them to watch people die in front of them, this was something else entirely: the aftermath.

The Tavisson barn, normally filled with the sounds of contended animals attending to their daily routines, was now haunted by an eerie chorus of agonized groans and quiet whimpers. Men and women alike were sprawled across seemingly every inch of the barn floor, nursing hastily-bandaged wounds or lying frighteningly still. Many were missing limbs, others were naked, their clothes incinerated by the same fire that had charred their now-blackened skin. A few of the braver, unwounded refugees had volunteered to help, and were dashing between victims with damp rags and soothing words, even as pools of blood soaked into the dirt floor,

And the smell. Haladane fought to keep from retching as his nostrils were assaulted by the sickening stench of unwashed bodies and burnt flesh, of gaping wounds and human waste left to rot in a damp barn. At least Helgen had been open to the air; confined to the Tavisson's barn, the odor seemed to magnify with every passing second.

"By the Divines," Ariadne whispered, her voice raw.

"Aye," Armun agreed gravely. "Now come, she's along this way."

Armun wisely pulled up the neckline of his shirt to cover his nose as he stepped forward, and Haladane and Ariadne quickly did likewise, eyes watering as they followed the half-elf's uncle towards the end of the barn. Haladane had to watch his step, carefully maneuvering between the splayed limbs of various groaning victims. Some of the ones that still clung to consciousness would reach out to him with trembling limbs as he passed, begging in hoarse, pitiful tones for water or a blanket, and he felt sickened at passing them by. But the worst was yet to come; as they passed Tarathal's former stall, Haladane glanced inside, and was horrified to see a small Nord girl, hardly six years old, sitting against the wall, staring blankly at the blood-soaked knot of bandages around her forearm. She looked up at him as he walked past, matted blonde hair parting to reveal a pair of eyes that were as blue as they were hollow, and Haladane felt a small part of his soul wither away under their empty gaze.

_Why?_ he thought. _What did she do to deserve this?_

"Not much further," Armun called out from ahead as they neared the rear of the barn, towards where his forge was located, and Haladane forced himself to tear his eyes away from the crippled girl, hurrying Ariadne past the stall.

Not soon enough for the half-elf's tastes, they reached the rear of the barn, and Haladane felt a brief thrill of relief as he saw Thalia rush in through the barn's back door, carrying a pile of fresh bandages, her blue work frock now stained red.

Thalia's eyes flicked over to the new arrivals in her makeshift infirmary, and a look of pure joy washed across her exhausted features. "Haladane!" she cried, tossing her burden to a nearby refugee helper, a middle-aged Nord woman, and practically bowling him over as she threw her arms around him. "Oh, Haladane, thank the Divines you're alive!" she exclaimed.

"And you as well," Haladane replied when her embrace slackened enough to allow him to breathe again. "I was terrified the dragon had attacked the farm."

Thalia's eyebrows jumped at the word, and she took a step back. "So it's true?" she whispered. "I heard the refugee's tales and the ravings of the wounded, but a small part of me still hoped-"

"It's true," Ariadne interrupted, her voice dull. "They've returned."

Thalia glanced over at the new speaker, and she blinked in surprise. "Ariadne!" she gasped, enveloping the Breton in another hug. "Oh, thank goodness!" As soon as she stepped back, however, her brow furrowed as she noticed the missing figures. "But where are Jordas and Claricia?"

The pained look in Ariadne's eyes told her all she needed to know.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear," Thalia said, her features melting again into motherly concern. "I-"

She was interrupted, however, by a sudden bellow of pain from behind, accompanied by the Nord woman yelling for her in panicked tones. "I'm sorry," Thalia said, before whirling around to dash over to where her helper was attempting to restrain the thrashing limbs of a burly Nord man howling in pain.

"What happened?" Thalia asked, her hands flitting across the man's body. "I thought we had stopped the bleeding."

"I tried to move him onto a stretcher and the stitching tore!" the woman shrieked, wringing her hands in a panic. "The wound's opened up again!"

"Damn," Thalia swore, and Haladane blinked in surprise; he had never known his aunt to curse before in his entire life.

He had little time to wonder about it, however, as she spun around towards them. "Help!" she yelled in desperation. "Get over here and hold him down!"

Without a second thought, Haladane sprung into action, with Armun and Ariadne close behind. They dashed over to the screaming Nord, and Haladane dove to the man's side, grabbing his right leg and forcing it down to the ground even as Armun grabbed his other leg and Ariadne joined the refugee woman in pushing the Nord back against a supporting hay pile.

The man gave another agonized howl, and Haladane finally looked up to his face.

It was Harald.

Haladane's jaw dropped, and the wave of relief at seeing the old Nord alive was immediately dried up as he cast his eyes back down to the wound that was causing him such pain. The entire right side of Harald's torso was swaddled in bandages, which were now being rapidly stained by a pool of red spreading outwards from the center with terrifying speed.

Then Thalia reached over and ripped open the soaked, useless bandages, and Haladane saw the true extent of the injury.

A tremendous ragged gash ran down the length of the Nord's ribcage, the twin folds of tissue that had once been stitched together now peeled back to reveal a bubbling fountain of blood, with occasional glimpses of snow-white bone.

"Oh, Talos," Thalia gasped, her hands automatically flitting up to her mouth even as the crimson tide continued to rise.

"We can't close that again," the refugee woman stated. "He almost died the last time."

"We have to try," Thalia responded, and looked up. "Fetch the needle," she said with grim determination, even as she set about futilely trying to stem the flow of blood with a pile of fresh bandages.

"That won't be enough," Ariadne yelled, struggling to make herself heard over Harald's screams. "He's bleeding too much."

"It's the only chance we've got," Thalia responded, her tone harsher than intended. "So unless you have a better idea-"

"I do," Ariadne interrupted, and without hesitation reached across the struggling Nord's body to place a hand over the gaping wound. Haladane watched in amazement as the Breton girl closed her eyes and began to whisper again words of power. A golden glow suffused her palm, and all around gasped as the flow of blood began to diminish, slowly diminishing from a raging flood into a steady trickle. At the same time, the muscle and skin around the wound began to writhe and wriggle like a nest of disturbed earthworms. Ariadne's voice grew louder, and in response, the golden light intensified, and the mutilated flesh slowly began to knit itself back together, fibers and arteries joining in a miraculous reunification as she moved her hand along the wound, leaving flawless new skin in its wake.

And then the task was done, and the Breton girl sagged backwards against the side of the stall, visibly exhausted.

An awed silence descended on the stall, Harald's raw yells abruptly ceasing as he gazed in wonderment at the resealed wound, without so much as a scar to denote its presence.

"You…" he stammered in wonderment. "You saved my life."

"Someone had to," Ariadne gasped in response.

"By Talos," the refugee woman breathed. "It's a miracle!"

"It's magic," Thalia corrected, turning to face Ariadne. "How long-?"

"A few years now," Ariadne responded, finally beginning to regain some of her strength. "I still don't know much, but-"

"What can you heal?" Thalia immediately asked.

"Mainly just flesh wounds," Ariadne answered. "I can stop the bleeding and close the skin in most cases, but repairing tissue like that takes tremendous effort. Don't even ask about broken bones."

"Can you do it again?" Thalia pressed, and Ariadne drew in a breath.

"After I get some rest, and maybe some food," she said finally, and began to push herself to her feet.

In an instant, Haladane was at her side, hoisting her up to her feet. As soon as he stepped back, however, she began to sway, and the half-elf rushed forward to catch her once again.

"Thanks," she breathed, steadying herself against him.

"Well don't just stand there!" Thalia accosted her husband, who immediately jumped into action. "Go, get the girl something to eat."

After Armun had left, Thalia turned to face the two teenagers. "I can never thank you enough."

"Nor can I," said Harald from below, struggling to his feet with the assistance of the refugee woman. Stopping in front of Ariadne, he swallowed. "I'm sorry for not stopping the rumors," he apologized, his voice heavy. "I…I thought magic was just a way for tricksters and thieves to take coin from honest folk, but now…I owe you my life."

"Don't worry," Ariadne said wearily. "You are forgiven. Now, go get some rest. The wound may be healed, but you still lost a lot of blood."

"Aye," Harald slurred, and without further ado, the refugee woman hurried him away towards the hay loft.

A few moments later, Armun returned from the farmhouse with a loaf of bread and some cheese, which Ariadne attacked with a ferocity Haladane could only compare to a starving wolf. Within minutes, the entire loaf had vanished, and Ariadne was licking crumbs off her fingers as she swallowed the last of the cheese.

"'Riad," Haladane began. "If you're too tired-"

"No, Hal, I have to," she insisted. He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a finger. "I couldn't save my father," she whispered, "but I can save them."

She took a step forward, stumbling briefly, but even as Haladane attempted to dive to the rescue again, she caught herself and looked up.

"Where shall we start?"

Without hesitation, Thalia accepted the Breton's offer of magical aid, and quickly began to triage the barn's occupants, determining who was in the most dire need of healing as well as which injuries the young girl was able to treat. With Haladane at her side as support and to restrain thrashing victims, as well as frequent breaks for sustenance brought in by Armun, she closed up wounds and calmed fevers, moving through the ranks of the wounded like an angel. And just as Harald had revised his opinion, Haladane found it rather amusing in spite of the circumstances how many of the previously magic-abhorrent Nords now blessed the Breton sorceress with the highest of praise.

Haladane also got the chance to learn about the fundamentals of magic. During one of their breaks, in between ravenous bites of a squash, Ariadne explained that all magic was merely a different or otherwise-manipulated form of energy, and that all spells exacted a cost on their caster; for acts such as healing, this meant that it took the same amount of energy for Ariadne to heal a wound as it would take for that wound to heal naturally on its own. The never-ending goal of magic-users was thus to continually increase through training and knowledge their magical reserves, so that they might cast greater and more frequent spells.

"And what happens if you cast a spell that requires more energy than you have?" Haladane asked.

"Then the spell will draw energy from your body until it has enough," Ariadne answered.

"And if the spell requires more energy than your body can provide?" Haladane pressed.

Ariadne shrugged as she swallowed the last of the squash. "Then you die," she said simply, struggling to her feet.

"Wait, 'Riad!" Haladane exclaimed, jumping up beside her. "You can't just say that and then expect me to-"

"I know my limits, Hal," Ariadne said impatiently. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have lives to save." She brushed past him towards the next row of victims, and despite the situation, Haladane couldn't help but smile at her devotion.

They continued to work for hours, but gradually Haladane began to tell that the Breton's strength was waning. She was almost always leaning on him for support, even during their breaks for food, and her spellcasting was becoming sloppy, mispronounced words forcing her to restart incantations even as the magnitude of wounds she was able to heal steadily decreased.

And so, as Haladane practically had to lift the girl upright after she closed a significant gash in a legionnaire's leg, he turned her to face him and said, "I think that's enough for tonight."

"Yer…yer probably right," she admitted, her speech slurring as she fought to stand upright.

"Here, I'll get you into the house, get you into bed," Haladane said, walking her towards the barn's exit.

"'s…'sounds nice," she said weakly, propping her head up against his shoulder as he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist.

They had nearly reached the exit when their path was suddenly blocked by a young Nordic woman, a child in her arms. "Please, miss," the woman begged, "please, heal my daughter. You're our only hope."

"Can't you see she's exhausted?" Haladane snapped, trying to push the woman out of the way. "You'll just have to wait."

"I can't wait!" the woman wailed. "She can't wait! Please, just look at her!"

Unable to resist the mother's panicked tone, Haladane looked down, and was shocked to again meet the empty blue gaze of the blonde girl that he had seen in Tarathal's stall. Her limp form was draped frighteningly-still in her mother's arms, and the bandages around her arm had been unwrapped to reveal a gruesome cut that was oozing a sickening white pus. The veins leading to and from the wounded area were abnormally dark, the skin an unnatural pale.

"They told me it's infected, and that they'll have to cut off her arm," the mother sobbed. "Please, help her! If there's anything you can do…please."

Haladane forced himself to look away from the haunting eyes of the disturbingly-silent child. "I'm sorry," he said, "but she's too tired. She needs rest, and then maybe she can help your girl-"

"Icandoit," a voice slurred at his side, and Haladane looked down.

"What?" he said, and Ariadne struggled to stand straight. "I can do it," she repeated laboriously, and attempted to step forward.

"Are you insane?" Haladane asked, holding out his arm. "You can barely walk! You said yourself, if you cast a spell without enough energy, it'll-"

"I know my limits, Hal," Ariadne insisted again. "I don't have to heal the wound, just cleanse it."

"But-" Haladane began.

"No," Ariadne said, setting her jaw determinedly. "I can do this. I have to do this." Without waiting for his permission, she pushed his arm aside and staggered forward towards the child.

Haladane was right behind her, placing a supportive hand on her waist as she leaned over the little girl, whose blank stare now shifted to focus on the young Breton. Ariadne once again lifted her hand, her arm trembling with the effort, and held it over the girl's wound. Knowing that she was too tired to afford making a mistake, Ariadne spoke slowly, annunciating the syllables of the magical words with painstaking care. The incantation completed, a familiar golden light once again issued forth from her palm. A pulse of light ran over the little girl's arm, the pus drying up and dissolving into a fine ash as the veins and skin returned to their normal shade, and then two things happened.

Ariadne smiled, her first real smile since Helgen.

And then she collapsed.

"Ariadne!" Haladane shouted, his voice cracking as he dove to catch her before she hit the ground. "Are you alright?" he asked in a panic, his gut wrenching as he received no response. "Ariadne, can you hear me?"

But the Breton girl was as still as a stone, and with his heart in his throat, Haladane's fingers went to her wrist, searching, _praying_, for a pulse.

_This can't be happening_, he thought, his mind racing as his mouth went dry. _Not now, not after everything we've been through._

And then her eyes fluttered open. "Told you I could do it," she murmured, and Haladane sagged with relief.

"Don't _ever_ scare me like that again," he said with as much resolve as he could muster, and Ariadne smiled again as her eyes slid back shut. Just to be sure, Haladane checked her pulse again, and was beyond relieved to feel it beating, faint but steady.

For a moment, Haladane simply sat there, cradling her head in his arms and trying to regain control over his breathing. Then, looking back up at the woman and her daughter, he saw the little girl staring in wonder at her arm, even as her mother wound the bandages back around the gash.

"What can we ever do to thank you?" the mother asked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"She's the one you need to be thanking," Haladane said, looking down at Ariadne. "But for now, just get your daughter some rest and keep that wound clean. Nature should take care of the rest."

"Bless you, children," the mother said, a tearful smile breaking across her face as she led her daughter away, even as a flicker of life began to stir in the little girl's eyes.

"Alright then," Haladane said, sliding his other arm under Ariadne's legs. "Up you go now." He slowly straightened, marveling at how light the Breton was, and pushed his way out of the barn doors.

It was night, he realized dumbly, stopping momentarily to allow his eyes to adjust to the subtle moonlight and wondering at how so much time had passed. Between the light of the moon and the few subdued fires of the refugee shelters, Haladane found his way across the ground to the farmhouse, and, with his arms otherwise occupied, tapped his forehead three times against the door.

A few seconds later, Haldane heard the sound of footsteps, and he smiled; Armun must have waited up for them. The door swung open, confirming his suspicion, and his uncle greeted him. "I was wondering when you two would finish-Divines, is she alright?"

"She's fine, just exhausted," Haladane grunted, shifting the girl in his arms. "A little help?"

"Of course, of course," Armun said immediately, reaching out to help move Ariadne through the door and closing it behind them. The candles in the house were still lit, allowing Haladane to navigate quickly to the room he shared with Eleyna. He glanced inside, smiling at the sight of his little cousin sleeping soundly, and delicately maneuvered Ariadne inside, laying her gently down onto his bed. She didn't even wake at the transition, her chest rising and falling with the steady pace of someone in deep slumber, and Haladane pulled up a chair to the edge of the bed, gently stroking her hand as if trying to ensure himself that she was still there.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Armun standing over him. "You should get some sleep," he said. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

"I will," Haladane promised. "I'd just like to stay here a little longer, if that's alright."

A small smile flitted across Armun's face. "Very well," he acquiesced, withdrawing to the doorway. "Good night."

"Good night," Haladane replied, returning his gaze to the exhausted girl in his bed and marveling at how even now, she could look so beautiful. After once again coming so close to losing her, he now realized just exactly how precious she was to him.

He couldn't let that happen again. He had promised to protect her, and that was what he was going to do, come hell or high water.

The thought had barely finished formulating in his mind when his ears registered a series of sharp taps.

Someone was knocking on the farmhouse door.

Frowning, Haladane stood up, grabbing a candle from the dresser and stepping out into the hallway, closing the door to the bedroom behind him. There was a pause, and then the knocking resumed again.

Ensuring his hunting knife was still strapped to his belt, Haladane opened the door, holding his candle high to identify the visitors.

And the wavering candlelight illuminated three figures that Haladane had hoped he would never see again.

"Good evening, citizen," said the first figure, even as Haladane's free hand shot to the hilt of his hunting knife.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The figure took a step forward, pulling down the hood of his dark robes to reveal an angular face with light golden skin and hair, features bearing their natural look of arrogance and superiority. "I am Justiciar Telerion of the Thalmor. My fellow justiciars and I are here to investigate the rumors surrounding the attack on Helgen on behalf of the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire." He smiled, and Haldane's skin crawled at the sight.

"I hope that we can expect your full cooperation."


End file.
